


Hate to Love You

by pen_is_mightier



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Inspired by The Hating Game - Sally Thorne
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 08:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16092041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pen_is_mightier/pseuds/pen_is_mightier
Summary: The Hating Game, Rosvolio style!Rosaline and Benvolio work for rival publishing houses that just merged into one corporation. If that wasn't enough, her cousin is dating his, and suddenly there isn't enough wine in the world for Rosaline to deal with that many Montagues. She's constantly telling her sister Livia how terrible he is, with his infuriating arrogance, his idiotic charm, his stupid good looks...crap.





	1. Just a Party, part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever since I read the fantastic Hating Game by Sally Thorne, I couldn't stop imagining Benvolio and Rosaline in Josh and Lucy's places. That muse just would not let me go, and so, inspired by all of the other amazing works in this tiny but mighty fandom, I decided to write this for NaNoWriMo 2017. It's still a WIP, so please bear with me. Hope you enjoy this love roller coaster!

“So who is this guy, anyway, Juliet? You’re sure he won’t mind us crashing his party?” Rosaline tapped her brakes carefully to avoid a fender bender with the slow-moving maroon station wagon in front of them as they reached the red light at the intersection.  
  
Juliet glanced over from where she was checking her lipstick in the passenger side pull down mirror. She sighed. “We’ve been over this a dozen times, Ros. Merc’s cool. You don’t have to worry; this isn’t going to be a rager where we have to watch our drinks at every second and worry about strange guys rubbing up on us.”  
  
Rosaline rolled her eyes. “You say that now, but remember last year when you wanted to go to the ‘Last days of summer’ party at Phi Epsilon Phi?” She spoke in a higher register, mimicking Juliet’s more dulcet tones. “ _It’ll be fun, Ros! Just a little party! The frat boy who invited me is totally trustworthy and would never do anything shady to score with as many chicks as possible - he’s not like that. He’s a **nice** frat boy_.”  
  
Juliet threw her head back onto the headrest with a dull clunk; Rosaline glanced over but seeing as how her younger cousin’s abundant dark golden curls cushioned the blow, she turned her attention back to the road. “God, Ros, that was _one time_ and _one party_. I learned my lesson! Are you never going to let that go?”  
  
“Of course not,” Livia piped up from the backseat. “You know she’s going to hold that over your head until you’re a grandmother. And maybe not even then.”  
  
The traffic began moving again as the light turned green, and Rosaline eased her foot onto the accelerator. “If you’re waiting for me to apologize for doing my job as your older sister/cousin and _looking after you_ , you can just keep waiting.”  
  
Livia leaned forward to pat Juliet on her shoulder. “It could be worse. At least you’re graduating this year so we don’t have to suffer frat boy stupidity for much longer.”  
  
Rosaline chuckled without humor. “Ah, but you’re assuming they grow out of that mentality after graduating and getting real jobs.”  
  
Juliet flipped the mirror back up to its resting place on the ceiling. “Don’t say that. I’m really hoping the graduation = adulthood concept isn’t a myth.”  
  
Double checking her blind side, Rosaline signaled and moved over to the next lane before speeding past the station wagon, who had been going 30 in a 40 mph zone. As they passed the other car, Rosaline looked over to see the sandy-haired middle-aged man punching various buttons on his radio controls instead of paying attention to his driving. “Idiot,” Rosaline muttered before addressing Juliet’s comment. “I’d like to tell you graduation is this magical process that opens up the doors to adulthood, Jule, but I don’t want to lie to you. I still feel like I have no idea what I’m doing most of the time.”  
  
Juliet scoffed. “You? Yeah, right. You’re the most put-together person I know.”  
  
“Rosaline not a full-fledged adult? This coming from the one who asked our father how to fill out tax returns when she was 12.” Livia wasn’t having it, either.  
  
“I had finished my homework already and I was bored and curious about what he was doing. That’s all.” Rosaline didn’t see what the big deal was - it had been a chance for some quality father-daughter bonding time, and she learned a valuable life skill at the same time.  
  
“Oh, yeah? What about the Halloween where you went trick-or-treating as Marie Curie?”  
  
“She was my idol at the time!”  
  
“Ros, you were eight. When I was eight, my idol was Britney Spears.”  
  
“…I’m going to be the bigger person and not comment on that, Juliet.”  
  
“See! You’re so grown up!”  
  
Rosaline shook her head in exasperation. “That’s just a clever front I put on. In reality, I’m just as clueless as you two.”  
  
A loud, disbelieving “HA” sounded from Livia’s corner of the backseat, and Juliet just nodded in agreement.  
  
“Fine, don’t believe me, then.”  
  
Silence reigned in the car for a few minutes until it was broken by Siri announcing that Rosaline had to turn at the intersection for Fifth Street in another mile. Rosaline checked the map on her phone and maneuvered her car back into the right lane.  
  
“Rosaline, if you want to indulge with a drink or two, I can be the DD tonight.”  
  
Rosaline raised her eyebrows at Livia’s unexpected offer, meeting her sister’s eyes for a second in the rearview mirror. “You’re not going to drink, Liv?”  
  
Livia shook her head. “No, my limit's one tonight. I’d like to party harder, but I’ve got that big cardiology test next week. I’m going to spend tomorrow with my head in my books, so I don’t want to be hungover while I’m studying.”  
  
Rosaline considered. “Well, I guess it would be shame if one of us didn’t drink this lovely rosé we are bringing.”  
  
“That’s the spirit,” Juliet crowed. Evidently the mood had lightened enough for the relatives to be at peace again.  
  
Wanting to get back further into Juliet’s good graces, Rosaline said, “And I will allow you to make me one drink of your choosing, Jule.”  
  
At Juliet’s gasp of delight, Rosaline quickly clarified, “Only _one_ drink and it can only have a max of two different kinds of liquor.”  
  
Juliet laughed. “It’s like you think I’m going to give you alcohol poisoning or something.”  
  
“Remember that time you tried to make me a margarita?”  
  
“Hey! You recovered from that…eventually.”  
  
They all laughed.  
  
Rosaline turned onto Fifth and her phone’s GPS piped up to inform her that they were nearly at their destination.  
  
“Oh, look, Arista! That’s it, right?”  
  
“Yep. Thanks, Liv.”  
  
A few moments later they were pulling up to a modestly-sized house. Rosaline eyed the deep green shutters and exposed brick sides. “This guy’s got decent taste. Those flower boxes are a nice touch.”  
  
Livia ‘hmmed’ in agreement. “Surprisingly neat-looking for a guy’s house.”  
  
Juliet chuckled. “Merc may love to party, but a sloppy drunk he is not. I really think if his job at his family’s company doesn’t work out, he could totally make it as an interior design.”  
  
The sisters’ heads tilted identically as they considered that. A thought occurred to Rosaline. “Is he the reason why you finally got rid of that awful yellow armchair in your bedroom?”  
  
Juliet ducked her head in embarrassment.  
  
“I told you that thing should have stayed in the ’60’s where it belonged, but of course you only listen when someone else says it.”  
  
“I know, I know - sorry!” Juliet held up her hands in surrender. “You were right, I was wrong. There, happy now?”  
  
Smugly, Rosaline nodded. “Yup.”  
  
“God, now I really do need a drink.”  
  
“Oh, come on, we’re only having a bit of fun with you, Jule.”  
  
The youngest Capulet shook off her residual discomfort of the moment. “Yeah, yeah, all right. Onto business, then.” She pointed to the driveway. “Merc said you’re welcome to park behind his Audi. Less chance of your car getting egged if it’s off the street.”  
  
Livia was incredulous. “Kids still do that?”  
  
“Oh, yeah, Merc said last year the neighborhood kids not only tee-peed his trees and hosed them down, but they also threw buried dead fish in his flower boxes. The stink was so terrible his neighbors notified the city to take action twice.”  
  
“Ugh.” Rosaline’s disgust was practically tangible. “Kids are vile.”  
  
Livia snorted. “Let’s be honest here: you think most everyone who is not me and Jule is vile.”  
  
Juliet burst out laughing. “So true!”  
  
Rosaline shrugged, unrepentant. “I can’t help it that so many people are idiotic, abhorrent, or both.”  
  
Livia and Juliet sighed in exasperation in unison. “Someday someone is going to restore your faith in humanity, dear sister.”  
  
“You really think so?”  
  
“Oh, definitely.”  
  
Rosaline turned the ignition off and removed her keys. “Let’s just forget this maudlin melodrama and do what we came here to do.”  
  
“Drink until the sun comes up?” Juliet asked.  
  
“Stuff ourselves with candy until we give ourselves diabetes?” Livia wondered.  
  
“Pretend that we’re socially adept and then consume enough liquor and/or candy to fake it until we make it.”  
  
Livia automatically opened her mouth to disagree before rethinking it - her older sister did actually have a point. None of them were known as social butterflies, but a few drinks in, and they’d feel comfortable enough to shed their introvert shells.  
  
Juliet stuck her hand out. “Let’s do this.”  
  
Rosaline just looked down at her hand before looking back up at Juliet. “Are we seriously going to put our hands in the middle and cheer? Is this really how we’re psyching ourselves up for this party?”  
  
“You betcha.” With her free hand, Juliet poked Rosaline in the arm insistently until the latter gave up.  
  
“Fine.” She slapped her hand on top of Juliet’s, who emitted a slight squeal of pain. “All for one. Here’s to not getting so drunk we trip over our own feet.”  
  
Livia put her hand on top of theirs. “And to meeting cute guys. This guy has to have single friends, right?”  
  
Juliet nodded. “Most definitely. Here’s to a night where we don’t have to worry about being responsible adults until tomorrow.”  
  
“Here, here!”  
  
“Woohoo!”  
  
They exited the car and slammed the doors shut in unison. “Let’s do this thing,” Rosaline said, cracking her neck and rolling her shoulders.  
  
“Honestly, Ros, we’re going to a party, not to war,” Juliet laughed.  
  
“Sometimes it’s one and the same, especially when you don’t know who’s going to be there,” Rosaline pointed out with a not-illogical point.  
  
Livia and Juliet shrugged. “I guess, but we will at least know Merc and Romeo and   Romeo will probably drag Ben along because he needs to get out of the house once in a while. Those are enough extra eyes and muscular arms to protect us if we run into trouble.”  
  
Rosaline dug around in her purse and withdrew her pepper spray, brandishing it triumphantly. “Or we could just keep an eye on our drinks and our mace in our hands.”  
  
Juliet and Livia exchanged exasperated looks. “Or that.”  
  
Livia frowned. “You didn’t wear your steel-toed boots, did you?”  
  
“Of course I did. Not only are they an effective man deterrent, but they also go great with this outfit.” Rosaline executed a little twirl to show off her costume.  
  
“You’re wearing all black and a pair of cat ears. The boots are black. Of course they go - you’re monochromatic.” Livia snorted.  
  
“But you do look pretty badass,” Juliet grinned.  
  
“So do you, Jules.” Juliet gripped the edges of her Supergirl costume’s skirt and curtseyed in thanks to Rosaline’s praise. “Actually we all do. We need to document this moment.” Rosaline flipped her phone to camera mode and motioned to the other two to join her. Livia straightened her long, flowing, red Ms Marvel scarf. The three of them huddled together for a few selfies.  
  
“Smile!”  
  
Rosaline clicked the shutter button a few times, then brought the phone down so they could see the photos. “We look awesome.”  
  
“Hell yeah we do. Badass women superheroes for the win!” Juliet pumped her fist in the air.  
  
“Technically, I think Catwoman is more of an anti-hero,” Livia mused.  
  
“She still helped save the city in the Batman movie with Joseph Gordon-Levitt, and in _Gotham_ she’s friends with little adolescent Bruce Wayne, so she still counts,” Rosaline argued.  
  
“Good point.”  
  
Their playful bickering was interrupted by the front door of Merc’s house opening to let out a tall Middle Eastern-looking man with dark curling hair that nearly reached his shoulders. His arms were laden with a couple boxes of what looked to be Halloween decorations. Intent on not tripping down his own front steps, he didn’t notice them until Juliet called out to him.  
  
“Merc! Do you need some help?”  
  
The man’s head popped up and he grinned rakishly as he spotted Juliet. “Well, if it isn’t Romeo’s dearest ladylove!”  
  
Rosaline’s eyes narrowed at that devilish smile. She was definitely sensing this Merc was something of a player. Women everywhere must swoon over that tall, dark, handsome and exotic combination, and with a smile like that, he must be hard to resist. At least he had acknowledged that Juliet was off limits. Now all Rosaline had to do was make sure he didn’t get an opportunity to get Livia alone.  
  
Juliet hurried over to take one of the boxes, Livia at her heels, while Rosaline followed more slowly, taking in the situation. Setting down his load, Merc took advantage of his newly freed hands to chuck Juliet under the chin. “Looking good, Jujube. I’d let you save me any day.”  
  
Juliet giggled and swatted at him. “Oh, stop it. You’re giving Rosaline all sorts of bad impressions of yourself.”  
  
Merc’s gaze moved over to meet Rosaline’s decidedly icy one. “Ah, well, I speak only the truth, my lovely blonde heroine.” He held out a hand to Rosaline. “Hi, you must be Rosaline. I’m Mercutio. Welcome to my home.”  
  
Rosaline looked down at his hand, then up at his face, over to Juliet and back again. Juliet was friends with him, so that had to mean he wasn’t total sleaze. She took his hand and shook it firmly. “Thank you. From what we’ve seen of the outside, it’s a lovely residence.”  
  
His grin widened. “Thanks for noticing; I put in a lot of effort to make it comfortable.” Turning to Livia, he offered his hand to her. “And you are Livia, I presume?”  
  
“Yes. Thanks for having us.” She shook his hand.  
  
“It’s no problem at all. Love the Kamala Khan outfit, by the way. Such a shame that we’ve had to wait so long for more diverse representation in our superheroes.”  
  
Livia beamed. “I feel exactly the same way!”  
  
Running a hand through his dark curls, Mercutio’s smile turned sheepish. “I’m afraid I lost track of time. I meant to have these decorations up before you girls showed up.”  
  
“Don’t worry, we can help,” Juliet immediately volunteered. “We love decorating.”  
  
“Thanks.” Mercutio handed her a giant inflatable spider. “Do you mind connecting the pump and getting this inflated? I want to get the decorations up before the kids start coming out. Sun should be going down soon, so we don’t have a ton of time.”  
  
Rosaline blinked twice, surprised. “You’re passing out candy while you’re having a party?”  
  
He grinned at her. “Yeah, it’s tradition. We sit out on the lawn and pass out candy for an hour or two and then the adult fun time begins.”  
  
She let out a noncommittal hum in response. Usually people their age were more concerned with the excuse to wear skimpy scraps of fabric they claimed were costumes and get their drink on than going through the tedium of passing out candy to trick or treaters. It was kind of nice to find someone who still enjoyed seeing what cute characters the kids dressed up as…but that didn’t mean Rosaline was going to let her guard down. Not for a moment.  
  
She could help hang stuff up, though. “Are those cobwebs? I happen to be a champion spiderweb hanger.”  
  
Livia chuckled. “It’s true. We won Best Halloween Door on our dorm floor every year in college because of my sister’s mad spiderweb skills.”  
  
“Excellent!” Mercutio handed over the lumpy ball of white cotton threads to Rosaline. “The yard will benefit from having a webmaster this year. Or is that webmistress?”  
  
Rosaline rolled her eyes but cracked a grin at his cheesiness. “I can’t help but notice that your decorations are more family friendly and less blood and gore.” It wasn’t what she would have expected from a man in his late 20’s.  
  
Mercutio glanced over from where he and Livia were working to hang little sheet-covered ghosts from his trees. “There are lots of little kids on my street, so I try to be respectful of that. I love Halloween, always have and probably always will. The Nightmare Before Christmas was about as scary as I got on the 31st until I got to college, and the whole blood and guts torture porn doesn’t really scream ‘Halloween’ to me. I want the neighborhood kids to enjoy the holiday as much as I do, not scar them for life.”  
  
“Huh. That’s really…admirable.” Rosaline turned back to her cobwebs. Juliet sidled close under the pretense of helping her to whisper, “I told you he was a good guy!”  
  
“Yeah, yeah.” Rosaline waved her away. So the guy liked Halloween and kids. She still wasn’t about to throw him a parade here.  
  
With all four of them working, the lawn was quickly transformed into a Halloween wonderland, complete with jack o’ lanterns grinning toothily and ghosts swaying in the cool October breeze. The huge spider sat in its webbed lair, looking for unsuspecting prey, while its scarecrow neighbor stood guard.  
  
Livia sighed and clapped her hands in delight. “It looks wonderful!”  
  
“It does indeed. Thanks for the assist, ladies. Sorry to put you to work when you came to party.”  
  
“Well, if you let us break out this rosé while we pass out candy, I think we can find it in our hearts to forgive you,” Rosaline bantered.  
  
Mercutio whistled. “Rosé? Definitely a woman after my own heart. If you tell me it’s sparkling, I might have to dump my current boyfriend for you, love.”  
  
Rosaline raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, but who says I’ll be willing to give you a chance?”  
  
Mercutio pretended to shiver, clutching his heart. “Ooh, perhaps you should have dressed as Elsa. You’ve definitely got the Ice Queen thing down.”  
  
Haughtily, Rosaline looked down her nose at him - not an easy feat as he was a handful of inches taller than she. “You’d do well to keep that in mind.”  
  
He saluted her. “Will do.” Nudging Juliet with his shoulder, he stage-whispered, “She kinda scares me.”  
  
Juliet whispered back, “Yeah, that’s her thing.”  
  
“It’s pretty hot.” Mercutio had to duck quickly to avoid Juliet’s hand connecting with his face. “Hey, it’s a compliment!”  
  
“Is it, though?” Rosaline wrinkled her nose in distaste.  
  
“From me, yes.”  
  
“Well, then I suppose I’ll just accept it at face value and ignore any unsavory implications.”  
  
Mercutio barked out a laugh. “Are you a lawyer, sweets? You definitely talk like one. Ooh, I can see you in a courtroom, going after the defendant if he goes out of line.” He smacked his palm on his thigh, presumably mimicking her hypothetical actions in court.  
  
Nonplussed, Rosaline only murmured to Juliet, “Are we going to be treated to such…delights like this all night?”  
  
Juliet shook her head. “He lives for pulling reactions from people, so if you ignore him, he’ll get bored soon enough.”  
  
Rosaline patted Mercutio on the shoulder. “Yeah, I’m going to need alcohol, stat.”  
  
“As my lady commands.” Popping up, Mercutio grabbed the two bottles of wine and disappeared into the house. Distantly, they heard a cork popping, and soon enough he was bringing out three glasses of wine. They all clinked glasses, citing a toast to new friends. Mercutio took a gulp. Smacking his lips together, he exclaimed, “Ah, that’s good rosé.”  
  
Shaking her head, Rosaline couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or amused at his antics. Seeing as how it was Halloween night and a party, she went with amused and drank more wine.  
  
“Are there chairs we need to bring out here for us to sit on?” Livia asked, still focused on making the best experience for both the kids and them.  
  
“Sure. Here, hold my wine.” Mercutio went back inside and came out carrying three fold up camp chairs under each arm, a mildly impressive feat since Rosaline could only manage one in each hand. The girls set down their glasses a bit precariously on the grassy lawn to help him unfold and set them up, arranging them in a semi circle.  
  
“You know what we need?” Rosaline looked around. “We need mood music.”  
  
Mercutio could have smacked himself in the forehead. “Damn, I knew I was forgetting something. I have a couple Bluetooth players we can connect to my phone. I’ve got at least one Halloween mix on there.”  
  
Juliet’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, yeah, that’ll be fun.”  
  
“If your mix doesn’t include Bette Midler singing 'I Put a Spell on You,' I will judge you forever.” Livia’s solemn vow was undermined by the mischief dancing in her eyes.  
  
“Fear not, Marvel miss, for I not only have that _Hocus Pocus_ classic, I also have the _Ghostbusters_ song and 'This is Halloween.'”  
  
“ _Nightmare Before Christmas_ is a given, Merc. But do you have the _Harry Potter_ theme? Or the _X-Files_ theme song?”  
  
“Juliet’s right,” Rosaline nodded. “And if you don’t have ‘Thriller’ we’re going to have to leave right now, rosé and chocolate or not.”  
  
Mercutio held up his hands in surrender. “Ladies, ladies, please, what kind of heathen do you think I am? No need to worry, I’ve got you covered.” He jogged back inside once more to fetch his speakers and two gigantic bowls of candy.  
  
While he was gone, Rosaline asked Juliet, “Is he Iranian?” She’d been idly pondering his ethnic background.  
  
Juliet shook her head. “Armenian. And proud of it.”  
  
 Mercutio came back out and set the speakers on the ground on the outside of the chair circle with the candy bowls beside them. “There. All set.” They all picked a chair and settled themselves.  
  
“Except for Romeo - he should have been here by now.” Juliet checked her phone like she had been doing compulsively every five minutes since they’d arrived.  
  
“He said there was a huge line at Total Wine, so they’d be running a bit behind.” Mercutio shrugged. “What do you expect? It’s a holiday.”  
  
Just then a tinny _ping_ chimed from Juliet’s phone, and she snatched it up and unlocked her screen. “They’re about to turn onto Arista. Yay, I can’t wait to see Romeo’s costume!”  
  
Mercutio frowned in confusion. “Wait, you guys didn’t do a couples costume?” Rosaline had been about to ask the same thing.  
  
“Well, I told him to just be Superman, but he refused because Clark Kent and Supergirl are actually cousins or something.” Juliet’s unimpressed face told them exactly what she thought of Romeo’s adherence to comic canon rather than playing along and having a cute couples costume for their first official Halloween together as a couple.  
  
Mercutio rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s not wrong, though…” He quickly shut up when Juliet glared daggers at him.  
  
She sighed. “Anyway, I don’t know what he’s dressed up as - he wouldn’t tell me, only that it was a character that would make more sense to be Supergirl’s boyfriend. Like I know anything about DC comics.”  
  
“You know enough to know that they’re DC characters and not Marvel - that’s something. More than most people, actually.” Mercutio tried to comfort her, with little success. Instead he changed tactics and held out the wine bottle to top off her glass. Juliet swallowed a gulp of wine, causing Rosaline to lean close and whisper, “Take it easy, Jules, the party hasn’t even started yet.”  
  
Wincing guiltily, Juliet put her glass down. “Good point. Don’t want to end up with my head in the bushes.”  
  
“That would also be my preference, yes.”  
  
Mercutio, who’d been fiddling with his phone, made them all jump when he suddenly cried, “Ha! Perfect! Here we go.”  
  
Haunting cello and violin music filled the air as he pressed PLAY on his playlist. The women listened for a few moments, trying to place it.  
  
“Is…is this _Skyrim_ music?”  
  
Rosaline stared at her sister, shocked. “How do you know the _Skyrim_ theme? You hate video games.”  
  
Heat suffused Livia’s cheeks and she ducked her head in embarrassment. Trying to rally, she protested, “You only know _Skyrim_ because of Escalus. Even though you didn’t talk about it a lot, it rubbed off on me.”  
  
Her sister folded her arms across her chest. “I’d be more apt to believe that if you weren’t showcasing all the classic signs of guilt right now.”  
  
Mercutio leaned over to whisper in Juliet’s ear. “See? Lawyer!” She nodded in agreement.  
  
Rosaline glanced over at them, annoyed. “I watch a lot of _Law and Order: SVU_ \- so sue me.”  
  
Rosaline’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Don’t tell me there’s a guy that you haven’t told me about and that’s where you’re getting this from.” Livia looked away and sipped her win. “Oh, my God. Livia!”  
  
Livia huffed, throwing her hands up and nearly spilling her rosé. “See? This is why I couldn’t tell you. Because I knew you’d act like this! You always go off the rails when I date someone, _anyone_.”  
  
Her sister scoffed. “I do not go off the rails. I merely inquire as to their worthiness to date you.” She turned to Juliet to back her up.  
  
Juliet winced. “I’ve got to go with Livia on this one, Ros. There are times I’m glad we’re just cousins and you don’t have complete control of my love life like you do hers.”  
  
Rosaline’s mouth dropped open. “You make me sound like some kind of…of love dictator.”  
  
Juliet looked up to the sky to avoid her gaze. “Well…” She drew the word out far longer than needed.  
  
“Oh, my God!”  
  
Mercutio bravely broke in. “Uh, ladies, I hate to break up this little debate, but I just thought you should know that your boyfriend’s pulling up and also I see the first kids coming out of their houses.”  
  
Rosaline huffed out a frustrated breath before pointing a threatening finger at each of the two traitors. “This is _not_ over.”  
  
Juliet latched onto the excuse of Romeo’s arrival to escape, jumping to her feet to go greet him at the door of his black Escalade.  
  
“Please, Ros, can you just drop it for one night?” Livia pleaded in an undertone. “We’re at a party and in public. I’m happy right now - isn’t all that matters?”  
  
Rosaline looked at her - really looked. Livia appeared to be nothing but earnest. And Rosaline had to admit to herself that her little sister had seemed to be in a lighter mood lately as she practically danced around their apartment. Rolling her eyes, she growled out, “Fine.” Livia smiled tentatively, which Rosaline returned. She hugged Livia close. “As long as you’re happy. But if he hurts you, I’ll castrate him with a spork.”  
  
Livia squeezed her. “If he hurts me, I’ll let you after I punch him in the face.”  
  
Nodding in approval, Rosaline let go. Behind them, Mercutio’s mouth had gaped slightly. “I know we just met, but remind me never to get on your bad sides, ladies.”  
  
They glanced at him and smiled identically beatific smiles. “It’s simple, really: just don’t be a douchebag.”  
  
“Or a pervert,” Livia added.  
  
He nodded. “Right. Got it.” Then he had the audacity to wink at them. “Pretty sure I can manage that.”  
  
“Juliet vouched for you, so I think you’re good for now.” Livia patted his shoulder.  
  
The slamming of car doors caught their attention, and they all turned to see Juliet embracing her boyfriend, who was wearing a black mask over his eyes and clad in black leather.  
  
“Hey, keep it PG over there, kids, there are little eyes coming your way,” Mercutio called, mindful of the trick or treaters slowly making their way down the block. Romeo used Juliet’s body as a shield from the little ones to stick up his middle finger at Mercutio behind her back. Once they separated, Rosaline could see a bright blue bat silhouette on Romeo’s chest.  
  
“Are you Batman?” Juliet asked, also looking down at the logo.  
  
Romeo grinned a bit sheepishly. “I’m Nightwing.”  
  
Juliet’s forehead creased. “…Is that a no?”  
  
“If he’s supposed to be Dick Graysen, at various points in his life, he was Robin, Nightwing, and Batman, so technically, you’re both right,” Rosaline argued. Everyone blinked at her, surprised. She rolled her eyes. “I liked Joseph Gordon-Levitt in the third Batman movie, so I Googled his character and then got sucked into a Wikipedia rabbit hole - it happens.”  
  
Livia couldn’t hold back a grin, but quickly wiped it from her face to turn to her sister with a completely serious mien. “Okay, but real talk: is JGL hotter in a suit a la _Inception_ or in a cop uniform?”  
  
“Suit. No contest.” Mercutio surprisingly was the first to answer, speaking up almost instantly. “Not that he’s not hot all the time, but that man in a suit and tie just does it for me.”  
  
“Me, too,” Rosaline admitted.  
  
“My vote is for uniform.” Juliet raised a hand. When Romeo let out an indignant “hey!” she just elbowed him in the side. “It’s just for fun.”  
  
“Yeah, me too,” Livia agreed.  
  
“Seriously? Why are we debating this?”  
  
Rosaline froze upon hearing the question from an unexpected source. The passenger from Romeo’s SUV had had his head down, fiddling with his gun holster and belt of his pirate costume, while the rest of them were talking, but now he looked up to roll his eyes at them. She tried to move, to speak, to do anything but shock had turned all her body parts to cement. She could only stand there and gape like an idiot when his gaze met hers. Bright blue eyes widened in surprise, before moving up and down her body, giving her a deliberate once-over. That smirk she hated pulled the corner of his mouth up. “Lookin’ good, Capulet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first story published on this site, and my first fanfiction since a failed Fushigi Yuugi attempt on FF.net a million years ago. Please be kind <3


	2. Just a Party, part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benvolio has shown up to ruin Rosaline's Halloween. Just like a Montague!

His insolent perusal of her form fired her irritation and freed Rosaline’s tongue. “God, isn’t it enough that I have to deal with you five days a week? Can’t a girl catch a break?”  
  
Unfazed by her ire - as used to it as he was - he just put a hand to his chest and blinked innocently. “Who, me?”  
  
Rosaline’s eyes narrowed and she nearly leapt at him to claw out his eyes in a manner that would make her costume’s namesake proud, but Juliet intervened. “Wait, you guys know each other?”  
  
Too busy glaring at him, Rosaline did not respond. Romeo filled in the blanks. “I think they work together. Ben works at the family publishing company.”  
  
Livia’s eyes widened, recognizing the name from Rosaline’s countless tirades as she vented after long, annoying days at her job. “ _Oh_ , are you Benvolio?”  
  
Ben broke the staring contest to look over at her. “Yes, I am.” Recalling his manners, he stuck out a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, miss…?”  
  
Livia smiled. “I’m Livia, Rosaline’s sister. I’ve heard so much about you.” Belatedly remembering what exactly those mentions entailed, she blushed and ducked her head.  
  
Ben’s eyes returned to Rosaline’s over her sister’s head. “Yeah, I bet you have.” Unrepentant, Rosaline just raised a challenging eyebrow. So she had told her sister about him and his terrible work ethic - so what?  
  
He looked back at Livia, smiling his usual smarmy grin that he thought was so charming. Still holding her hand, he admired her outfit. “What a refreshingly inventive costume. It looks great.”  
  
Swallowing back bile at seeing his gaze trace her sister’s form, Rosaline marched over and smacked his hand away. “Hands off and eyes up here, buster. She’s taken.” Rosaline had not been happy about that particular development a few minutes ago, but now she clung to it like a lifeline, using it as an excuse to shield Livia from Benvolio’s lechery. She shooed Livia off over to Mercutio, who seemed the safest. Peripherally she felt heat at her back as Ben leaned close to murmur in her ear.  
  
“Relax, Capulet. I was paying her a compliment, not mentally undressing her.” She scoffed and made a move to step away, but not before he told her, “I’d rather look at you, anyway. All that leather is…inspiring.”  
  
“Ugh.” Rosaline told herself her frantically beating heart was from disgust at his innuendo, and not anything else, smothering the reaction beneath the annoyance Benvolio always engendered in her. She stomped away back to her wineglass, motioning for Mercutio to top her off. No way was she voluntarily spending time with her enemy stone cold sober.  
  
An uptempo electronic beat started pouring out of the speakers. After a few beats, Rosaline recognized the song and she turned to Mercutio in amazement.  
  
“‘Rotten to the Core?’”  
  
Unrepentant, he smirked. “What can I say? I have nieces and it grew on me.”  
  
Rosaline gave him a slow head nod, saluting his cool and unashamed demeanor. “All right, I can respect that.”  
  
Mercutio jutted his chin out at her. “You?”  
  
She shrugged. “We sometimes babysit our neighbor’s eleven-year-old daughter. She has a crush on Jay.”  
  
He chuckled. “As he should; that boy’s cheekbones could cut glass.”  
  
“Did you see the second one yet?” Livia asked. “We liked both of them, but that one was just a smidgen better.”  
  
“Why’s that?”  
  
“More Mulan - duh,” the sisters chorused.  
  
“She does kick a lot of ass in the second one,” Mercutio acknowledged.  
  
Excited childish shrieks interrupted their discussion as the first horde of costumed children descended upon their not-too-spooky lawn. Many of them greeted Mercutio by name, which eased any of Rosaline’s lingering doubts about the Armenian hunk - clearly, if he could be trusted around children, adult women like them should not pose a problem.  
  
Some of the children sang along with the song, which made her smile as she watched Juliet and Livia let the kids pick out pieces of candy. She complimented one little Rey on the pretty (and quite accurate) arrangement of her triple bun hairstyle. “Stay away from any Kylo Rens you see,” Rosaline advised her.  
  
The little girl, who looked to be maybe eight or nine, brandished her blue lightsaber in answer. “I can take him!”  
  
Rosaline laughed. “Of course you can, love. Just be careful not to be tempted by the dark side.”  
  
Waving, the girl ran off to rejoin her parents, who were waiting for her back on the sidewalk.  
  
Benvolio dropped into the chair next to her, and by the look on his face, she knew exactly what he was going to say. Beating him to the punch, she pointed a warning finger at his chest and hissed, “If you say a word about being tempted by _my_ dark side or any other shite like that, I swear to God I will rip that stupid scarf off your head and strangle you with it.”  
  
If anything, the devilish look in his eyes grew in response. She tried valiantly to ignore how his guyliner made them seem even bluer than usual. “Ooh, progressed to physically undressing each other, have we?”  
  
Immediately, she reached over to sock him in the shoulder. At his yelp, she snarled, “Pig.” Looking over at Mercutio, she told him, “Switch chairs with me.”  
  
As Rosaline settled herself next to Livia, her sister leaned over and murmured, “You okay? I’ve never seen you get that…violent.”  
  
Rosaline brought her glass up to her lips. “That man could cause a nun to commit murder.”  
  
Sensing she wouldn’t like the results if she kept pushing, Livia just said, “Okay.”  
  
Once the kids were happily skipping away, candy bags a little fuller, Romeo turned to Juliet. “Babe, I picked a Nightwing costume because in the comics Supergirl has a crush on him, but he doesn’t like her back.” He picked up her hand to kiss the back of it. “But _this_ Nightwing is not that much of an idiot.”  
  
Juliet beamed and slid her arms around his neck to kiss him. Everyone else groaned.  
  
“Are we going to have to deal with this lovefest all night?” Ben lamented. “It’s been months already; aren’t they sick of each other’s saliva yet?” Crude though it was, Rosaline privately agreed with his statement. Romeo and Juliet always seemed like they could barely keep their hands off one another, and after months of this behavior, everyone was heartily sick of them making googly eyes and kissing as if their lips were magnetized.  
  
“Yeah, there’s no way in hell I’m going to be subjected to this 24/7 _again_.” Mercutio threw a bag of Skittles at the back of Romeo’s head, which had the intended result of breaking the lovers apart. Romeo picked up the candy and chucked it back with a growl.  
  
Casually reaching up a hand under the pretense of scratching her head to shield her mouth, Rosaline mouthed THANK YOU at Mercutio, who sent her a thumbs up and a wink.  
  
A sweet voice crooned from the speakers. “Let me tell you something you can really trust, everybody’s got a wicked side…”  
  
“Ooh, our second favorite _Descendants_ song!” Livia crowed.  
  
Mercutio’s eyes twinkled as he started to sing along. He interrupted himself to ask, “Let me guess - it’s the Michael Jackson inspiration, isn’t it?”  
  
“Well, yeah, especially in the choreography.” Livia jumped to her feet and started to shuffle forward as the Evie character sung about how “you gotta drag your feet.” Mercutio got up to join her, both of them grinning.  
  
Livia motioned to Rosaline to dance, too. “Come on, Ros, you know you love this song.”  
  
She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I necessarily want to perform it in public.”  
  
Livia groaned. “Ugh, don’t be such a spoilsport. Besides, this is a judgement-free safe zone, right?” She glanced around at the others for their agreement.  
  
The guys nodded, and Juliet rose to walk over. “Come on, cuz, I’ll do it, too.”  
  
Rosaline weighed the potential fun factor against the fact that Benvolio, if he recorded her, would have everlasting blackmail material. Unwillingly, her gaze slid over to him, only to find his already on her. Seeing that he was caught, he raised a challenging brow at her. “So you’re dressed up as a scaredy cat, then, Capulet?”  
  
Damn the man. Draining her glass, Rosaline tossed it (gently, she wasn’t a heathen) onto Livia’s abandoned seat next to her and lifted herself up.  
  
It was Halloween, she was starting to feel the rosé work its magic in her veins, and if she wanted to dance like a fool with her sister - well, that’s precisely what she was going to do.  
  
This was her night, dammit, and she was going to have fun even if it killed her. And maybe even after that. Stupid Benvolio with his stupid pirate costume and his stupid black eyeliner and his stupid Captain Jack crew member wannabe attitude and ridiculous accent that he was pulling with all of the kids and charming their mothers…oh, crap, why was she harping on him? She couldn’t escape him, even in her own thoughts! Ugh.  
  
The song progressed to the chorus, and she stood next to Livia and mimicked her steps. At first Rosaline’s movements were tentative, but when Juliet started giggling at Mercutio’s over exaggerated mouthing of the lyrics while he bumbled around pretending to be King Ben trying to be a bad guy when he was so good he bled flowers, Rosaline shook off her self-consciousness and threw herself into the dance. Who cared what stupid Benvolio or anyone else thought.  
  
Juliet skipped over and pulled Romeo up, even as he laughingly protested that he had never heard the song. “Who cares?” she shouted back.  
  
The two of them danced together off to the side while Rosaline, Livia and Mercutio followed the song’s choreography, with Livia pretending to be Evie and Rosaline taking on the role of Carlos. When it came to the line about losing a fight to an alley cat, though, Rosaline playfully yowled and clawed the air in front of Mercutio’s face. He tugged on one of her ears in retaliation.  
  
“Mommy, mommy, look! I wanna dance, too!” A pint-sized Rapunzel hopped up and down from her place on the sidewalk as she pointed at them. Her mother waved at Mercutio and gently pushed her daughter. “Go ahead, Lily.”  
  
Mercutio bowed low to the princess as she dashed up to him. “Why, if it isn’t Princess Rapunzel gracing us lowly peasants with her presence. Wilt thou allow me the honor of this dance?” He held out a hand to her, which she took happily. The two of them spun in circles while Livia recorded the moment for her Snapchat.  
  
The Villain Kids’ singing segued into the iconic tinkling chimes of the Harry Potter theme. Lily shrieked happily and hopped around, her frenetic movements a striking contrast to the more sedate beat of the music. Luckily for Mercutio, she had released his hand by then. He took the opportunity to stuff some candy into her forgotten bag as it lay on the ground.  
  
“Lily, dear,” her mother called. “Are you ready for more candy?”  
  
“Candy!” With an ear-splitting yell, Lily scooped up her bag and would have run to the next house, had her mother not gently stopped her. “What do you say to Mr. Mercutio?”  
  
Lily buried her face in her mother’s leg and mumbled something incomprehensible. Apparently it was fine to dance with him, but thanking him was simply too much. Mercutio chuckled good-naturedly and waved them on. “You’re quite welcome, my lady. Enjoy the rest of your night.”  
  
They didn’t have time to mourn Lily’s departure because as soon as she had gone, another wave of children swarmed them, demanding candy.  
  
The task of appeasing the tiny greedy overlords mostly fell to Benvolio, as he had the most candy readily at hand. Livia and Rosaline just mostly stayed out of the way so they wouldn’t get trampled in the stampede. This group of kids was slightly older - probably fifth to sixth graders - so the verbal thanks were mostly not forthcoming. Mercutio didn’t care, but Rosaline tried to glare them into submission as they passed by.  
  
The harried-looking trio of men who were in charge of the group barely called out their own thanks before they were swept along in the tide as the rowdy preteens dashed to the next house.  
  
“God, am I glad I don’t have any children,” Rosaline muttered to Livia as they both went back inside Mercutio’s house to open the other bottle of wine they had brought, along with the cabernet sauvignon Mercutio had asked them for. Absently, Rosaline admired the dark cherry wood cabinets and chrome-plated appliances in his kitchen. They found the drink selections atop the island in the middle of the kitchen and took their time comparing labels.  
  
“I know what you mean.” Livia’s face scrunched in concentration as she twisted the corkscrew into the cabernet. “Did you see those parents’ faces? This night must be hell for those with spoiled kids or the ones who don’t run their households with enough discipline.”  
  
“Plus, think of what they’ll be like later, after they’ve eaten their candy and started their sugar high.” Rosaline couldn’t suppress a shudder at the thought.  
  
They refilled their glasses and Rosaline raised hers in a [synonym for impromptu] toast. “To being single and child-free.”  
  
Livia clinked her glass against her sister’s. “To no responsibilities for any lives other than our own.”  
  
“Here, here!” Rosaline didn’t even know how to do CPR; she could barely keep her own life from falling apart, so thank God she didn’t have to do it for someone else, a little person who depended on her.  
  
They both sipped deeply and sighed. Rosaline frowned a bit. “I guess we really should be supplementing our alcohol intake with bread or something to soak it up. Does Mercutio have anything to eat in here?” She wandered over to the refrigerator and opened it.  
  
“Ros!” Livia was scandalized at Rosaline’s blatant disregard of common courtesy.  
  
“What? I don’t think he’ll mind. Mercutio seems very easygoing.” Bending at the waist, Rosaline opened various drawers to see what was inside them. Finding a plethora of cheeses nestled to a bunch of kumquats was one of the more interesting finds as she rummaged.  
  
“It’s cool; he really won’t care.”  
  
Rosaline jackknifed back to a standing position at the sound of Benvolio’s voice. Closing the refrigerator door, she looked over her shoulder to see him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed as he watched them.  
  
Livia looked embarrassed even though she wasn’t the one who had been doing anything wrong, while Rosaline just narrowed her eyes at him. “You know him so well?”  
  
Ben frowned in confusion. “Yeah, he’s my best friend.” At Rosaline’s double blink, he continued, annoyed, “I talk about him all the time. I know I’ve mentioned him to you.”  
  
Rosaline cocked her head to the side as she thought back on some of the things he’d said about his friend over the last few months they’d been working together - going away to go skiing at the cabin with Q, Q was thinking about getting a dog, some skank cheated on Q…  
  
“Oh. I thought you meant Q, like the letter. But it’s your nickname for Mercutio?”  
  
He nodded once. “We both have weird names, so we tried to give each other more normal-sounding nicknames, but it was kind of hard with his name. I know Juliet calls him Merc, but that makes him sound like a mercenary, which he definitely is not, so I couldn’t call him that. ‘Tio' is ‘uncle’ in Spanish, which is also weird, so I settled on Cue. There’s actually a funny billiards story about Mercutio and a cue ball that you should ask him to tell you sometime. My name is a lot easier to shorten, but he still manages to piss me off when he calls me Benny Boy. I _hate_ that.”  
  
Rosaline’s eyes gleamed as she latched onto that very important piece of information, and Ben cursed under his breath as he realized he’d revealed too much. “Damn it, Capulet. Now you’re going to call me that all the time, aren’t you?”  
  
She smiled beatifically at him and fluttered her eyelashes in faux innocence. “I’m sure I have absolutely no idea what you mean.”  
  
He glared, pointing a finger at her. “I’m serious, Capulet. You _cannot_ , under any circumstances, call me that, or you will suffer the consequences.”  
  
She only grinned coyly and crossed her fingers behind her back. “Sure, absolutely, I understand.”  
  
Livia ratted her out. “I see you crossing your fingers, Ros.”  
  
Blowing out a frustrated breath, Ben decided that was probably as good as he was going to get out of Rosaline. He stepped fully into the room, deciding to concentrate on the problem at hand. “What kind of food are you looking for?”  
  
“Something substantial but fairly quick and easy; we’re drinking on empty stomachs,” Livia answered.  
  
Ben’s eyebrows furrowed as he thought quickly through what Mercutio usually had in stock in his pantry and refrigerator. “Grilled cheese okay?”  
  
“What were we going to eat for the party?” Rosaline asked, curious.  
  
“I was going to grill steaks and chicken for those who don’t eat red meat.”  
  
“What about those who don’t eat meat at all?” She couldn’t help herself from being contrary; it was just an automatic response to Benvolio’s presence.  
  
Ben looked over at her. “Capulet, I’ve seen you eat a burger more than once.”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean me; I was just asking in general.”  
  
“Well for the rabbits and grass grazers, we had vegetables to skewer and grill as well, so there’s no need to worry about that.”  
  
“Hey, I believe the official term is ‘greenery connoisseur,’ for your information, mister,” Livia jabbed playfully. Rosaline wasn’t quite sure she’d heard her sister right; normally shy, it took Livia a bit to warm up enough to people to tease them, and never when she had just met them. Which meant that something in Benvolio’s behavior or mannerisms or speech patterns (she wasn’t a psychiatrist, so sue her) put Livia enough at ease for her to relax her guard. Rosaline had known him for months and still hadn’t done that. What the heck could possibly be soothing about a lunkheaded Lothario who had probably inhaled more hairspray than was healthy in his lifetime?  
  
Well, actually, he did have a brain hidden somewhere under all those thick, dark locks of hair. She knew because she’d seen evidence of it. So he wasn’t a complete idiot. But that still didn’t explain why Livia felt comfortable around him.  
  
At the moment Ben was bowing low in abject apology for “offending.” “A thousand pardons, my lady.”  
  
“You’re pardoned. _This_ time.” Livia adapted her best Evil Queen hauteur.  
  
Ben raised his eyebrows and looked over at Rosaline. “Yeah, now I can definitely see the sisterly resemblance.”  
  
Rosaline let out a mocking “ha ha” before rolling her eyes only to glare harder at him. “Didn’t you say you were going to give us some sustenance before the alcohol overwhelms us and we pass out on the lawn and you have some awkward explaining to do for the cops?”  
  
He shook his head, grudgingly impressed in spite of himself. “Only you can make a favor sound like a mandatory action of self-preservation, Capulet.”  
  
“All part of my charm, _matey_.”  
  
Livia handed Benvolio all of the cheeses Mercutio had. “Here, I wasn’t sure which ones you wanted to use.” He thanked her and rifled through them. Leaning against the island to watch him, she casually observed, “You know, it’s kind of funny that you dressed up like that. Most guys would go for Captain Jack - it’s the most recognizable pirate costume, and Johnny Depp definitely brought guyliner back in a big way. If you ask women on the street, I bet you nine out of ten of them would say Jack Sparrow is the hottest pirate on the planet.” Benvolio nodded along as he sliced bread from a loaf of sourdough, listening easily. Rosaline, on the other hand, had a creeping feeling she knew where Livia was going with this conversation and she hastily looked about for something to distract her with. Making an X with her arms, Rosaline tried to get Livia’s attention, mouthing NO at her, but her sister ignored her and kept talking to Benvolio.  
  
“Except my sister. Rosaline would never admit it, but she went gaga for Will Turner when he fully embraced his pirate side. You know, in the third movie, when he becomes captain of the Flying Dutchman and he’s wearing a headscarf and that maroon shirt is plastered to his abs? Yeah, she must have watched that scene at least 18 times.” Pretending to act surprised, Livia made a show of reaching out to pluck at Benvolio’s sleeve. “And look here, what a coincidence - _you’re_ a handsome pirate wearing a maroon shirt and a headscarf. Isn’t that something?”  
  
Benvolio glanced up to meet Rosaline’s gaze, though hers was embarrassed and quickly moved away. Instead of taking the golden opportunity to make her even more uncomfortable - she was sure he would have been making cracks about her pirate obsession and sending innuendo-laden remarks her way all night - Benvolio shockingly took the high road and turned the conversation in another direction. “Actually, dressing up as Captain Jack is harder than you would think. I mean, sure, you could half-ass it, and most people would be able to guess who you were. But if you really want to sell it, there are a lot of details that most people miss. Like the long wig isn’t just a shaggy, unkempt mass; there are dreadlocks in there, too. And a full-length period jacket is tough to find. Stuff like that, all the little details, that’s what really sells it. But like you said, for Will, all you need is a red shirt and some fabric slapped around your head and you’re good. So that’s the route I took.”  
  
Livia accepted that he wasn’t going to take the bait and bowed out. “Well, whatever the reason, it suits you.”  
  
“Thanks. Yours is better, though.”  
  
“Well, duh.”  
  
Rosaline’s cheeks had cooled by the time they were done chuckling together and she reached into the fridge to grab the butter. Holding it out to Benvolio, she arranged her face into a neutral expression. He looked from her to the butter and back again before accepting it with a nod of thanks, taking the olive branch as it was offered.  
  
They might not get along at work, but for tonight, here at the party, all hostilities were temporarily ceased.  
  
It was a nice change from the rather hostile work environment Rosaline usually experienced with Benvolio. Unexpected and certainly nothing to get used to, but nice nonetheless. Their families had been at the opposite sides of the publishing world for as long as anyone could remember, but thanks to the lovely economy disaster - also known as the recession - the Montague and Capulet companies had had to merge into one joint publishing house in order for each one to stay afloat. The Capulets had been well known in the writing word as more willing to connect emotionally with their authors as well as their audiences. Writers were made to feel like family members rather than employees at Capulet Co. It was generally thought that the more comfortable an author felt with their publisher, the more willing they were to work hard for them. That kind of give and take relationship had formed the foundation of the Capulet family business and had served them well. They had not been the largest publishing house in the business, but their relationships with their writers were strong and practically iron-clad, and they had not had any negative press about them, all of which were seen as benefits in Silvestro Capulet’s mind. Juliet’s father - and Rosaline and Livia’s uncle - had had the reins to the business passed down from his father, and he ensured that legacy of warmth and compassion endured. (With his authors, of course; with his nieces, Rosaline in particular…well, let’s just say that’s quite a different story.)  
  
Montague Publishing, on the other hand, could not approach their authors in a more different way if they tried. Their focus was about the bottom line and profits; they wanted to back the next _Hunger Games_ and _Maze Runner_ , and although the writing may not have been the best, they searched far and wide for the next _Twilight_ (or _50 Shades of Gray_ , as the case may be) because they knew the books would fly off the of the shelves and the compensational payoff would be big.  
  
Rosaline’s personality actually did not fit in her family’s company atmosphere that well. As a more literal, serious-minded individual who would rather plan than dream, she would be more of an asset at Montague, but of course to say such a thing would be equivalent to going over to the dark side, and that just would not do. So she was forced to be the sole business mind in a sea of hipster lollygags, lest she bring shame to the Capulet name.  
  
The Capulet name meant everything, and keeping it clean and pristine and scandal-free was the sole occupation of those who bore it. There were many a day when Rosaline fervently wished for a different surname, but of course, her more serious mind took over and relegated such fanciful thoughts to the trash bin. If only wishes were horses and all that rot.  
  
Her current position in the company was an enviable one…if you were anyone but Rosaline. Serving as the executive assistant to her uncle Silvestro, her title may sound fairly innocuous, but what it equated to was anytime her uncle said, “Jump!” she had to ask, “Off which cliff?” After nearly eight years of working at the company (ten total if she counted the two year unpaid internship during her college years) Rosaline had been sure that she would have worked her way up to a more senior management position by now. Her uncle, however, seemed to be reluctant to allow her any more freedom and power, essentially trapping her by his side indefinitely.  
  
It made family dinners with her uncle, aunt and cousin Juliet a bit awkward, to say the least. In fact Juliet was the only reason Rosaline suffered though those hours of veiled comments from Uncle Silvestro and outright criticisms from Aunt Giuliana - she simply loved Jule too much to let her endure all that alone. Although it rather seemed that as their golden daughter, Juliet was spared the brunt of the burden, but Giuliana’s forked tongue left no prisoners, not even her beloved only child.  
  
This weekend was a much-needed break from the stress. For once, Rosaline had elected not to take any of her work home and only focus on relaxing and having an enjoyable Halloween. It used to be her favorite holiday - memories like their award-winning dorm room door used to be the norm, not the exception. But ever since she started working full time at the publishing house, all of her free time - limited though it was - went toward needs like grocery shopping and paying bills, and if she was very lucky, an occasional episode of television.  
  
Livia did her best to cajole her sister into spending more time on herself, not wanting Rosaline to work herself to a heart attack or a premature coffin, and it’s not like Rosaline didn’t want to relax and just be once in a while. The laid-back attitude of Capulet employees did not translate to an especially effective work ethic, so Rosaline was essentially trying to stem the tide of overdue deadlines and financial pressures single-handedly. It was the reason Silvestro would never consent to her pursuing a higher position, otherwise he’d have to actually start doing some work rather than golfing and taking possible investors out to nice restaurants to charm them into donating money.  
  
“Gotta say, I’m surprised to see you here and not still buried under a pile of paperwork, Capulet.”  
  
Rosaline struggled not to react to Benvolio’s obvious barb meant to provoke. She accepted the slice of grilled cheese with a nod of thanks. “Just because you never see me having fun at work - because we’re at _work_ \- doesn’t mean I don’t know how to cut loose now and then.”  
  
That damned smirk spread over his face but it was a degree or two softer than usual. “Never had a doubt.”  
  
She scoffed. “Yeah, I’m sure.” Blowing on the sandwich to let it cool a bit, she took a tentative bite. Then she made a very unladylike sound of ecstasy at the explosion of butter and cheese and perfectly toasted bread all coming together in a symphony of flavor on her tongue.  
  
Benvolio’s head snapped around the moment she moaned and immediately her face got hotter than the surface of the sun. Holding a hand over her mouth politely while she chewed, she managed to sputter, “Shut up.”  
  
His smirk deepened lecherously. “But I didn’t even - “  
  
“Shut. _Up_. Montague.”  
  
“- say anything.”  
  
She swallowed rather more solidly than perhaps wise. “I mean it. Not a word.”  
  
He mimed zipping his lips and tossing away the key but she was not appeased. Turning on her heel, she said, “That’s it. I’m leaving. You can stay here with your perverted thoughts.”  
  
Ostensibly murmuring to himself, he said, “Hate to see you go but love to watch you leave” before raising his voice to call out to her, “You’re welcome!”  
  
Not dignifying that with a verbal response, she lifted a middle finger in the air and continued down the hallway toward the front door, her cheeks still burning.  
  
“Ooh, is that grilled cheese?” Luckily for her, Juliet intervened with her bottomless stomach - it was truly unfair that such a petite and delicate-looking girl could eat as much as a linebacker and still possessed the metabolism to not show it - as her nose was immediately drawn to the buttery smell emanating from Rosaline’s sandwich.  
  
“Yes, Jujube. We told Montague we needed sustenance to soak up some of this wine, and he obligingly raided our host’s cupboards. I’m sure he’ll make you one, too, if you ask nicely.”  
  
Mercutio scrunched up his face upon hearing Rosaline’s reference to his best friend. “You guys really just call each other by your last names? How long have you been working together?”  
  
Sadly, Rosaline did not have to think about this answer, because the day Benvolio Montague started working at the desk across from hers was permanently etched into her memory as a black day forevermore. “It’s been eight months.”  
  
“And you’re still that impersonal?”  
  
Rosaline took another bite of cheese-stuffed bread. She chewed and swallowed before answering, trying to attempt some diplomacy. But because it involved Benvolio, she invariably [inevitably?] failed. “I would think he would rather I call him Montague than something else…like Asshole or Jerkface or Douche Canoe.”  
  
Livia nearly spit out her wine, sputtering, “Douche Canoe? Are we back in high school and no one told me?”  
  
Striving to ignore her sister’s outburst, Rosaline continued. “And I would rather be called by my surname than Bitch or…” She faltered. Why is it that thinking up male derogative names was so much easier, but for females, ‘bitch’ seemed to encompass everything?  
  
“Harpy?” Benvolio offered, catching the tail end of the conversation as he strode out with a plate of more grilled cheese halves. Juliet pounced on it like she’d been lost in the wilderness for a week, even though Rosaline distinctly recalled her little cousin dining on ramen while she’d been shimmying into her Catwoman getup.  
  
Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she waved a hand in vague acquiescence. “Yeah, like that.”  
  
“So we just stick to last names and there’s no bloodshed.” Ben tore his gaze away from the sight of Juliet scarfing down two sandwiches at once to shake his head in wonder at Romeo.  
“Ben - or is it Benvolio?” Livia queried.  
  
His attention swung over to her and he shrugged. “Usually only my uncle calls me by my full name.”  
  
Livia’s eyes cut over to Rosaline, who was studiously looking down at her grilled cheese. Livia had only ever heard Rosaline refer to him as Benvolio, so if he hated his full name, she must take an unholy pleasure in subtly tormenting him with it all the time. Deciding to interrogate Rosaline later when they were alone, she continued. “Are you an executive assistant as well?”  
  
Rosaline looked up to pin Livia with a glare. Livia knew full well what his job description was, as she’d heard nothing but diatribes against him since the first day he started working at the company.  
  
Ben had just taken a bite of his sandwich when Livia asked him her question, and he fought to chew and swallow it politely so he could answer her. “Yup. I’m my uncle’s right hand man in the company.” He jerked a thumb over at Romeo. “Actually, it’s Romeo’s father who’s the head of Montague Publishing.”  
  
Livia looked over at Romeo. “Do you work there, too?”  
  
Looking slightly uncomfortable with her sudden attention, Romeo fiddled with his eye mask. “Yeah, well…sort of. I mean, I work there, but not as much as my dad would like me to. But I’m just not sure that a publishing house is where I want to be, you know?”  
  
Rosaline thought her sister did know, actually. Livia was not as much of a book person as she was, so the thought of working at Capulet Co did not fill her with undue joy or even a measure of excitement. Livia wanted to be a doctor, so she was pursuing her medical career. She was currently in her second year of residency at Verona General, and she couldn’t be happier. However, if Livia had wanted to pursue a career that had less pedigree, like, say, a teacher, Rosaline was sure her aunt and uncle would have been nowhere near as supportive. In their minds, doctors were part of the upper echelon of career paths, and so Livia’s choice was both respectable and respected by them.  
  
Livia said as much about not meeting familial expectations, and Romeo visibly relaxed. That led Rosaline to glance over at Mercutio. “And what do you do again, Mercutio?”  
  
He grinned, figuring his own profession would come up eventually. “Mostly I live off of my parents’ money.” (That explains this house, Rosaline thought.) “But my day job is at a PR firm downtown that’s one of the family businesses.”  
  
“Making politicians and minor celebrities look good and all that?”  
  
He smirked, taking a sip of wine, but it didn’t seem as mirthful as before. “Yeah, but I actually kind of hate it. Politicians are so…slimy.”  
  
Livia glanced over at Rosaline at that, and Rosaline carefully kept her expression neutral as she finished eating her grilled cheese. “Yeah, that’s been my experience, too.”  
  
“Actually, Cue’s passion lies in helping others,” Benvolio offered. “He volunteers at one of the youth centers downtown every Saturday morning.”  
  
That got Juliet’s attention from where she’d been running her fingers along the back of Romeo’s neck. “Really? That’s great.”  
  
It was Mercutio’s turn to be embarrassed. He shot his best friend a glare for bringing it up, but Ben only shrugged. “I don’t do it for any sort of acclaim or karma points.” His gaze turned pensive. “I just understand what they’re going through, better than most, and I offer a listening ear.”  
  
Rosaline suddenly realized what kind of youth center it was. “I think that’s pretty admirable. Let me know if I can tag along with you some Saturday.”  
  
Mercutio looked over at her, surprised. She smiled thinly. “I might not know what kind of identity issues they’re struggling with, but I can plate up food or play games, stuff like that.”  
  
He blinked a couple times, trying to reconcile her offer with the impression of her character he’d gotten when she arrived. “Uh, sure. The center workers can always use a helping hand.”  
  
“Count me in, too,” Livia said. “Only we’d have to make sure I wasn’t on call that day.”  
  
“Us, too.” Juliet pinched Romeo until he nodded. “We can help some kids and it’ll be a good boost for our resumes.”  
  
Mercutio looked askance at all the unexpected offers of assistance. “Okay. Sounds like a plan.”  
  
“Cool.” Benvolio got to his feet. “We ready for steaks yet?”  
  
“Yes!” everyone cheered.


	3. Back to the Grindstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's back to work and hating each other as usual for Rosaline and Benvolio...at least most of the time

There were many days where Rosaline wished that as an executive assistant, she had enough power and leverage to have an assistant of her own, and today was one of them. Mondays were hard enough, but for once it would be nice to have someone to call on to fetch her coffee instead of her having to wake up an extra half hour early to make a coffee run for Uncle Silvestro at his favorite local coffee shop on the other side of town - because heaven forbid they give any money to the soul-sucking corporate entity known as Starbucks rather than supporting a local small business, no matter that there was a different, perfectly respectable coffee chain with a location on the first floor of the office tower Capulet & Montague Publishing House currently resided in. This morning’s coffee run seemed especially hard after all the fun of the weekend. After the party on Saturday night, all three girls had slept in on Sunday and then spent the rest of the day binging rom coms and eating ice cream like it was going out of style. Rosaline couldn’t remember the last girls’ night they had had, and her job had made her the guilty party for that. She resolved to make girls’ night a monthly occurrence at the very least and made a mental note to mark it in her calendar starting this month.

Juggling the cardboard carrier full of insulated coffee cups, Rosaline tried to free a hand to open the door of the Monmouth Building (shortened to just the ‘Monmouth’ by employees). Luckily, the doorman saw her struggles and propped it open for her, wishing her a good morning. She returned the greeting and made her way toward the elevators, her high heeled pumps clacking along the tiled floor. There had been an unusually long line at the coffeehouse, so she was a bit past her normal arrival time. Normally she liked to be in her seat and ready for the day at least 20 minutes before the official start of day, mostly because the office was pretty empty at that time and she could continue to wake up and prepare for work in peace. At this time of morning, however, everyone was rushing so as not to be late. Rosaline still had a good 6 minutes before work started (she could even push that to 26 minutes, given that her uncle was rarely on time, preferring his tee time to clocking in) so she wasn’t worried, but her left foot still tapped impatiently as she waited for an elevator car to return to the ground level.

There was a ‘ding’ and like robots, everyone’s heads turned in unison toward the two doors sliding open and then there was a general power walking rush to get inside. Rosaline glanced about at the other employees pushing their way inside and then down at her watch. She could afford to wait for the next one.

She got into the next available car and squeezed her way in, moving toward the back as much as possible in order to leave room for more passengers. A triple beeping sound alerted her that she’d received a text, and balancing the coffee tray in her left hand, she dug into her purse with her right. Just as she’d grasped the edge of her cell, someone jostled her with their overlarge briefcase as they entered, and she stumbled.

Instantly there was a large hand around her wrist, helping her to support the coffee, and another one at the small of her back, keeping her upright.

“You okay, Capulet?”

Of course it was him. That was just the way things were going this morning. She truly detested Mondays.

Turning her head to the side, she met his bright blue-eyed gaze. The heat from his hands felt like it was searing her skin, even though the fabric of her blouse. Annoyed that she should notice such a thing, and further irritated that Benvolio should be capable of looking so refreshed and put together when she felt anything but, and even more nettled by how good looking he was overall, she gritted out, “Fine,” followed by a grudging, “Thanks.”

She tugged her wrist from his grip and shifted until his hand at her back fell away.

He huffed. “And here I thought we had proved we can manage to be civil toward one another. Guess I was wrong.”

“Guess so,” she agreed, putting a note of false cheer into her voice. One weekend wasn’t enough to erase a history of hostility, so she wasn’t about to start warming up to him now. Her usual treatment of him left him so cold she gave Elsa a run for her money for iciest queen of them all. Staring at the numbers lighting up in sequence as they ascended, she did not let herself look back at him, busying herself instead with looking at that accursed text. It turned out to be a request for spaghetti for dinner from Livia, and she typed an affirmative reply out one-handed.

More and more people got off the higher the elevator climbed, until there was room enough for Rosaline to step away from Benvolio, which she did promptly, ignoring his little growl of irritation as she did so.

When they reached their floor, Rosaline marched out the moment the doors were wide enough to let her out and did not stop until she reached her desk. She could hear Benvolio’s steps behind her, moving at a more leisurely pace, until he reached his own desk.

She set down the coffees and bent to unlock her desk drawer so she could stow her purse away. Across the room, Benvolio was similarly putting away his messenger bag. Rosaline sat in her rolling chair. He sat down in his. She punched the power button for her computer so it could start booting up, and his gaze never left hers as he did the same.

The worst thing about both of them being executive assistants was that their desks sat facing each other, since both of the CEO offices were right next to each other. So Rosaline and Benvolio had developed little games to get under each other’s skin (and to pass the time). This one was the Mirror Game.

Rosaline typed her password in, hitting the ‘Enter’ key at the end with a loud and decisive tap, glaring a challenge. Benvolio copied her, his own gaze going heavy lidded and defiant.

The ‘ding’ heralding the arrival of another person on their floor paused the game as they both looked over to see whose boss it was - Rosaline was 98% certain it was Damiano Montague, but her uncle could surprise her and come in on time for once. Miracles did happen sometimes.

…but not today. Damiano Montague stalked down the corridor, his face arranged in its usual scowl. Rosaline had never once seen the man crack a grin, and she doubted he even knew how to express any level of joy because he probably had never experienced it.

“Have you finished those reports yet?” he barked to Benvolio, who told him he had. “Print them out and we’ll go over them before they’re sent out. No mistakes this time!” Damiano continued on toward his office, but not before pausing to glance over at Rosaline. He didn’t meet her gaze, only stared at her breasts as he scoffingly asked if her uncle was in yet, knowing full well he was not.

Under the pretext of promising to text Uncle Silvestro and find out his ETA, Rosaline swiveled her chair to the side and bent down as if to get her phone from her purse. In reality, she was hunching over as much as possible to keep her chest out of Damiano’s line of sight. Benvolio called out that he’d sent the reports to the printer, which broke his uncle’s concentration as his eyes followed Rosaline. His visual treats taken away, Damiano moved on into his office and slammed the door shut behind him.

Rosaline straightened back up, now that she was no longer providing a free show. Her lips curled in disgust and she muttered, “Ugh” to herself. She looked down at herself, trying to see what he had been looking at. This particular top was buttoned all the way to her neck before the lapel tabs lengthened into strips long enough to be tied into a bow. She moved her shoulders this way and that, but as far as she could tell, it was impossible for him to have seen any cleavage whatsoever.

“Sorry about that, he’s a pig.”

Rosaline ceased her self-examination to look over at Benvolio, who was shuffling some papers together, presumably the aforementioned reports. She raised an eyebrow. “Your uncle tries to look down my top at least once a day. Why start apologizing for his behavior now?”

As Benvolio opened his mouth to reply, she waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever. Forget it.” Glancing meaningfully at Damiano’s closed door, she told Benvolio pointedly, “You’d better get in there before he starts screaming again.”

He didn’t respond, only got up and went inside the office, shutting the door with a quiet click.

Rosaline checked the clock on her phone. There was just enough time to deliver Marina’s coffee and ask how her holiday was before her uncle made it to his office. Her work friend’s undoubtedly tawdry adventures would be just the thing to put Benvolio and his confusing gestures out of sight and out of mind.

-*-*-

Rosaline wasn’t sure what it was about Halloween weekend, but she chalked up the civility between her and Benvolio as a one-time thing, thanks to the magic of the holiday, and promptly resolved to act normally at work, hence her lack of proper gratitude to him in the elevator. But honestly, he hadn’t done all that much to help, so she really didn’t have anything to thank him for…right? Right.

Besides, based on their past work experiences together, the two of them would just never get along. Rosaline thought back to the party at Mercutio’s, after Juliet had imbibed enough liquid courage to ask the one question they all wanted to know but were too afraid of her to ask: why were things so antagonistic between her and Benvolio? Juliet had pointed out that Mercutio had turned out to be an awesome guy, and Ben was his best friend, so shouldn’t that count for something?

Rosaline had been about to reply that sometimes friends saw each other with rose-colored glasses, when Benvolio had surprisingly spoken up.

“It’s my fault, actually.” He picked listlessly at the remnants of his steak, unwilling to meet anyone’s eye, especially Rosaline’s. “On my first day at work, I stole a really great opportunity from Rosaline, and that made her life more difficult working for your dad. So her wrath is understandable, really.”

Rosaline had closed her mouth at his confession, and she opened it once more, only to close it again. His frank admission left her speechless. She hadn’t expected him to take responsibility for causing the animosity between them.

When the merge was about to proceed, Uncle Silvestro had been especially frantic, worrying that Capulet Co would be eaten up by Montague Publishing’s more corporate outlook and procedures. So he had tasked Rosaline with coming up with a number of ways to smooth the transition and make it easier for employees on both sides alike to adjust to the new normal. She had spent two weeks straight coming in early and staying late researching Montague Publishing’s way of business and trying to interweave it with Capulet Co’s more laid-back approach so each company was felt equally but also supported the other. When it came time for the first official meeting as Capulet & Montague Publishing House, her uncle had generously given her the floor in order to present her ideas.

She had been meticulously outlining her diligent plans, when Damiano Montague’s eyes had practically glazed over and he interrupted her to ask how much longer she was going to take. She bristled with the insult and was about to continue when Benvolio had interjected and suggested a series of team building exercises to built trust between the two companies and to foster further cooperation. Rosaline had in fact just been about to go over that idea in detail, but Damiano immediately threw his support behind it, and then her uncle seconded it, and just like that they were united in slapping his back and praising him like he was the second coming…leaving Rosaline high and dry with what should have been her victory in unifying the two vastly different family companies.

She kept her smile on as she always did, a polite but ironclad mask, until the meeting adjourned and the two CEOs went to check out their own personal office spaces. Benvolio allowed her to precede him out of the room, out of some misguided attempt at chivalry, she supposed, and she held her head high and refused to make eye contact. He seemed to sense what had happened, anyway.

“You were going to say the same thing, weren’t you? I’m sorry, I should have let you finish.” She ignored him and continued on her way, but he called out after her. “I’ve just ruined our working relationship forever, haven’t I?”

“Yup,” she bit out and stalked away.

She should have expected such a thing to happen; as a woman none of the male higher-ups in the company had ever taken her seriously, and as the niece of the CEO, everyone else thought she got her position through nepotism - which wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean she didn’t work her ass off each and every day. She earned her executive assistant status, but no one saw it that way. The only perk of being a Capulet in Capulet Co was that she didn’t have to go through any interviews because her education level and work experience was already well-known to her uncle and the rest of the board members, many of whom she’d known since she was a little girl.

But that was all ancient history now, as far as Rosaline was concerned. The most important thing remained that she and Benvolio could work together harmoniously, even if they did not like one another. Personal grievances were one thing, but she was committed to keeping her company afloat and successful, and now that the name on the building was shared with Montagues, she did not intend to alter or lessen her commitment to excellence. Benvolio seemed to operate the same way, so as long as he never got in her way again, she could tolerate him.

The rest of the week after Halloween passed slowly, now that she had had an actual break from the monotony, but she did her level best to carry on. Friday night saw her getting home at a respectable (for her) 7:00. The apartment she shared with Livia and Juliet was empty when she stepped inside - no surprise there, since Juliet and Romeo attached themselves to each other in each and every free moment they had, and Livia’s on call schedule for her current rotation was unpredictable at best and hellish at worst.

Rosaline walked through Livia’s room to get to her own, dropping her coat and purse on her bed and kicking off her sensible pumps. While Juliet was technically rich thanks to her parents, the three of them had decided to pay their own way for their rent, which led to some extremely sketchy apartments during their month-long search. This final place that they had picked was a railroad car style, built like a cable car with each room lined up after the other and the only way to access each room was by walking through the ones before it. They had tried to make “walls” and “doors” as best they could with curtain rods and drapes and beaded curtains, but privacy was essentially impossible. It was tight and cozy and they sometimes got sick of being in each other’s spaces all the time, but it was all they could afford and it was theirs, so that’s all that mattered. Livia fancifully referred to it as their Ninja Turtle lair, since it was built like the subway car situation in the movie but without being underground with a ginormous sewer cave around it (to the ladies’ great relief).

Rosaline texted Livia to let her know she had made it home safely and dropped Juliet a line to ask if she would be coming back anytime soon. There was no reply from Livia and Juliet responded promptly to say she was spending the night at Romeo’s. Rosaline nodded to herself at the expected answers and decided to actually cook dinner for herself for once. There was only so much takeout a person could handle and cooking was a fun and soothing way for her to decompress from the stresses of the day.

Stretching her arms above her head, she blew out a long exhale. She was definitely going to need a big glass of wine as well. Ooh, pasta would be a good choice for dinner, then - she could sip on a good Malbec while she cooked, and then sip some more while she ate. Decision made, she shed her work clothes and dumped them into her hamper, letting out a groan of relief as she pulled off her bra and exchanged it for a soft bralette. She pulled on the rest of her loungewear: a pair of yoga pants and an old college tee two sizes too big. Comfort ensured, she padded her way on through to the Lilliputian- sized kitchen. After setting the pasta water to boil in the pot, Rosaline got out a wine glass, popped open the Malbec, poured herself a generous portion and leaned back against their teeny dining table to enjoy it. Most people would put on a tv show for background noise, but as a steadfast bookworm at heart, she appreciated the quiet, and after a long day with multiple people barking orders at her (her uncle), pleading for an extension on deadlines or to put in a good word with the boss (her coworkers), or just filling her in on last night’s post-date sexcapades (Marina), when she could she indulged in just sitting and listening to the crickets chirp. The rumble of the L train was distant enough that it faded into white noise, along with the purring of car engines as they passed by slowly on the street below.

Pulling out her phone, she idly scrolled through her Facebook Newsfeed, noting as usual old friends from high school and college were getting engaged or married or popping out kids. Not that she didn’t want the same thing for herself eventually, but Rosaline couldn’t imagine venturing back into the dating scene now. Not when Escalus’ betrayal was still somewhat fresh. It may have been nine months, but as usual thinking of him caused her heart to ache, both in remembered pain and acute anger at the abrupt way he’d broken up with her.

She had been so sure they were on the same page, both in love and willing to take their relationship to the next step. That chilly January day, as she waited for him in their favorite coffee shop, sipping her chai latte and hoping his black coffee wouldn’t be cold by the time he got there, Rosaline had been convinced that he was close to proposing to her. Growing up as childhood friends, thanks to her friendship with his sister Isabella, Rosaline had always liked her best friend’s cute older brother, but he didn’t view her the same way. It wasn’t until he’d been home from college the summer before her senior year of high school and walked into the Prince kitchen to see her standing there, laughing with Isabella, both of them in bikinis, that Rosaline finally saw him look at her and see a woman, not a little girl.

The two of them had spent the summer sneaking around, her not wanting to compromise her friendship with his sister and (now looking back on it, she realized) him not wanting anyone to know he was dating a high schooler. The thrill of it all blinded her, to the point when at the end of the summer when he proposed a long distance relationship, she didn’t even have to think twice before agreeing. With all the modern technology at their fingertips, she thought naively, Facebook, Twitter, Skype, and the like, it would be like they never even parted.

And it was good, for a long while. An organizer to her bones, Rosaline neatly fit in FaceTime with Escalus into her busy schedule, managing her time as wisely and easily as she had every year before in her juggling act of working on the school newspaper as Copy Editor, doing homework for her advanced placement courses, and completing household chores so her Aunt Giuliana would have no cause to complain. (She did so constantly, anyway, but Rosaline at least tried.)

Escalus knew her, had known her for years, and there was comfort in that. She didn’t have to explain her complicated home situation - he’d been there when her parents had been killed in a car accident when she was in middle school, and through Isabella he knew about the strife in the Capulet household when Aunt Giuliana and Uncle Silvestro (grudgingly) took her and Livia in after the funeral. He knew she liked double chocolate chips cookies, loved gelato, and wouldn’t eat calamari or anything else with tentacles if she was paid. He sat through a Taylor Swift concert for her, for goodness sake. So when their relationship had deepened due to the affection and attraction between them, she had embraced it with both arms.

It wasn’t until years later that he forced her to realize that she had been the only one to do so.

Shaking her head to shoo away errant thoughts of her ex, Rosaline sautéed carrots and onions, adding some garlic, and then a bit more simply because she loved the pungent smell. Her mother’s Bolognese sauce was one of the first recipes she’d taught her oldest daughter how to cook, and though it was simple, that first bite of spaghetti, red sauce and ground beef never failed to bring Rosaline home.

She hadn’t made comfort food in a while, thanks to all the pressing demands at work lately, but tonight felt like a good night to kick back and eat something she’d made with her own hands, instead of dialing for take out or microwaving a frozen meal that was more cancer than nutrients. Bringing her plate and wine to her room, Rosaline made herself comfortable on her bed and opened her laptop, searching her streaming service for the next episode of her favorite superhero show in her To Watch list. She may have been a season behind, but that only meant she never had to wait to watch as many episodes as she wanted. Dodging spoilers on Facebook was the only downside, but not many of her friends were fans, which made it easier. Isabella had been the one to get her addicted to the show in the first place, but thankfully her best friend understood and never dangled tempting tidbits about the current season, even though Rosaline knew she was desperate to. Things like that made it why Isabella had held the title of Rosaline’s BFF since they were five, and it didn’t look like that status would be changing anytime soon. If their friendship had weathered the hurricane of Rosaline’s blowup with Isabella’s brother, it could handle anything.

Sighing, Rosaline sipped her wine and started the episode. If good wine and muscular guys wearing tight leather beating up bad guys couldn’t relax her, then nothing could. Checking the time on her laptop, she figured she had time for at least three episodes before she would have to wash her face and brush her teeth and go to bed. Thanks to yet another one of her uncle’s tee times tomorrow morning, she would not need to go in early for once, and she planned to take advantage of it. She may even treat herself to a pain du chocolate with her latte, since she would not have to be running all over Verona to get her uncle’s coffee. Plans for the night settled, she sat back and lost herself in the never-ending battle of good versus evil.

Rosaline had just started her third episode when a muffled-sounding voice singing about how she was “just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake” erupted from her cell phone. Juliet had installed the ringtone for herself on Rosaline’s phone ages ago. Swiping across the picture of a laughing Juliet making bunny ears on her head, Rosaline answered the call.

“Hey, Jules.”

There was no response, although Rosaline could hear talking and music in the background - it sounded like Juliet and Romeo had hit a bar.

“Juliet?”

A throat cleared. “This is Philip, the bartender at The Tower. The girl whose phone this is got wasted, and I was going to get her a cab, but she insisted I call you.”

“Shit.” Rosaline hurriedly swung herself out of bed, fumbling around for flip flops to slip her feet into. “Is Juliet okay? Where’s her boyfriend?”

“Yeah, they’re both pretty tanked, but I got them to drink some water, and I’ll try to get some more in them.”

Rosaline blew out a breath, both relieved and exasperated. “Okay, thanks so much. I’ll be right there.”

Hanging up, she quickly found the ride sharing app on her phone and sent out a request for a pickup. It was going to be costly to get back into the city proper and then return to the apartment, but the ride would be cheaper than a taxi and there was no way Rosaline was going to leave her cousin to fend for herself when she was inebriated. A double beep indicated that Rosaline’s ride was on the way, so she grabbed her purse and a sweater and started power walking to her door. 

Too anxious to wait for the elevator, she jogged down the five flights of stairs to the ground floor and flagged down her car. On the drive over to the bar, she grew angrier and angrier at Romeo for taking Juliet out and letting himself get too incapacitated to protect her. He was younger than she was, sure, but he was older than Juliet so he should (key word: should) know better as the ostensibly more responsible and employed adult of the two of them, as opposed to Juliet, who as a college student was still working on making responsible choices. Although Rosaline had to admit her cousin generally had a good head on her shoulders, things like summer frat boy parties notwithstanding. And Romeo seemed like an okay guy most of the time - but when he pulled crap like this, that was when Rosaline needed to put her foot down…or put it up his ass, she didn’t really care which, as long as he got the message that Juliet was not like other girls where he could just mess around and everything would be hunky dory. When Juliet fell, she fell hard, and if her boyfriend wasn’t there to catch her, couldn’t be relied on to take care of her, that’s when Rosaline needed no prompting to show him the door. It had happened with Juliet’s last six boyfriends, and Romeo seemed to be skating on thin ice as it was in Rosaline’s book.

The car parked in front of The Tower, blinding neon lighting and blaring music proclaiming it the hottest new thing of the moment, judging by the line of bodies clustered outside. Rosaline thanked her driver and hopped out. Squaring her shoulders, she put on her best resting bitch face and started pushing through the crowd, making her way to the entrance. A couple of girls yelped and cried, “Hey!” as she passed, but when she turned to glare at them, they subsided and looked in other directions, unwilling to hold her laser-like gaze. She heard a few other people comment on her outfit, and as she glanced about, she could see everyone else was dressed up - if not to the nines, then at least to the sevens. Rosaline, however, could care less about hipster wannabes accepting her as one of them, so she just turned up her RBF to eleven and powered through, her only focus on finding Juliet and getting her home.

She continued to employ that strategy until she had elbowed her way to the bar. There were three different bartenders, so she snagged the sleeve of the nearest one, his curly brown hair swept up into a hipster man bun. Shouting to be heard over all the ruckus, Rosaline yelled, “Hey, are you Philip?”

Man Bun shook his head before pointing at one of his fellow bartenders, a glasses-wearing blond, with his chin, his hands busily mixing a margarita. “Nah, he’s down there.”

Rosaline glanced down to Philip and judged the distance between them before deciding it wasn’t worth it to swim upstream against the crowd again. “Oy, you!” She shoved a fiver into Man Bun’s flannel shirt pocket. “Can you get him for me, please?”

Nodding in thanks, Man Bun shuffled sideways to shout at Philip and gesture to her. Philip looked at Rosaline and tilted his chin up in recognition before handing off the drink he’d just finished preparing to its buyer and making his way down the bar to her.

“Hey, thanks for calling. Where’s my cousin?”

Philip pointed over her left shoulder. “Parked her and her boyfriend at a booth over there.”

Handing him a tenner, Rosaline thanked him and turned around, heading toward the booth in question. In between shoulders and heads of the ever-moving flood of people, she caught glimpses of Juliet’s dark blonde hair nestled close to a distinctively cocoa brown neck that could only belong to Romeo as they cuddled together on one side of the booth. From what she could see, they were still awake and sentient enough to talk at the moment, which Rosaline considered a victory.

Dodging and darting - for once her average height was a blessing as she wove in and out of the crowd - she finally broke through to their table and slapped her hands on top of it.

“Ros!” Juliet yelled. She tried to climb over Romeo in her excitement and just ended up elbowing him in the gut. “You’re here!”

Coughing, Romeo waved feebly at her. He most likely was reading the rage in Rosaline’s eyes, for he shifted backward away from her.

“Twice in one day, Capulet? Must be my lucky day.”

At first Rosaline thought she was hearing things, but she turned her head and sure enough, there was Benvolio, sitting in the other bench seat. She blinked at him, nonplussed.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Benvolio gestured to Romeo and Juliet with his beer bottle. “Loverboy texted me when he thought he might be getting too tipsy to get Juliet home safe, so he asked me to pick them up. What are you doing here?”

“Juliet made the bartender call me.” Rosaline’s eyebrow twitched in irritation. Now she was doubly annoyed because she had made up this whole big speech to yell at Romeo about how irresponsible he was being, but now she couldn’t do that anymore, plus she had to suffer more of Benvolio’s presence.

She glanced down at his drink. “If you got called out to be the DD, why the hell are you drinking?”

“Ooh, language, Capulet.” She rolled her eyes. “And this is my one and only beer, okay? Just needed something to take the edge off from the day.”

Benvolio swigged the last of his beer and looked back at the couple. “You lovebirds ready to get out of here?”

“Yup!” Romeo awkwardly clambered to his feet, swayed once, and then offered a hand to Juliet once he’d regained his balance. Giggling in that lighthearted way of happy drunks, Juliet took it and he pulled her gently to her feet. Rosaline noted that he made sure Juliet was stable standing up before looping her arm around his.

“Did you find a parking spot close by? My car’s about a two block walk.” Benvolio rose after setting down his empty bottle. Shrugging into his leather jacket, he raised an eyebrow at Rosaline.

“No, I got dropped off.”

“Oh, right, I forgot you take the train to work.” He glanced at her, gauging her reaction. “Since I’m already here and I was going to drop Juliet off anyway, you may as well come with us.”

She wrinkled her nose in an automatic reaction, which he saw for what it was and further tried to cajole her. “It’ll be cheaper, at any rate, and you can keep an eye on Juliet. Plus, if she throws up, I’ll have to live with the smell, so that’s bound to make you happy, right?”

Rosaline had to admit that was a convincing argument. “Fine. Just get me the hell away from here.”

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand!” Juliet whooped. She paused. “Ros, what is a popsicle stand, anyway?”

Groaning, Rosaline grabbed Juliet’s other arm and prepared to help Romeo steer her through the other bar patrons. “I’ll tell you later, okay?”

“Kay!”

Keeping a firm hold on Juliet’s arm, the three of them followed Benvolio as he bobbed and weaved smoothly through the masses. Rosaline kept one eye on him to see where they were headed and the other on Juliet, checking her face for any signs that she was in danger of either vomiting out the night’s merriment or falling unconscious. Juliet fought Romeo and Rosaline’s hold as she swayed to the music and tried to break free to join the other dancers on the floor.

“I love this song!” she yelled.

“You don’t even know what song this is,” Rosaline countered, pushing her forward.

“Sure I do! It’s…the one - with the guy! Yeah!”

Romeo patted her on the head with his free hand. “You tell her, babe.” 

Benvolio glanced back over his shoulder. “You got her?”

Rosaline resented the implication that she was incapable of handling Drunk Juliet. Half raising his hands in surrender, he shrugged. “Just asking.” With that he turned back around and led the way out of the chaos.

“It’s down this street and then left at the light.” He checked the time on his phone and let out a soft curse. “Hope my meter’s still good.”

Rosaline snorted, amused. “You’ve probably paid at least two-thirds of what I did to get here for like twenty minutes.”

“Probably.” Digging his keys out of his pocket, Benvolio answered absently, seemingly unconcerned with the dollars his car was racking up parked on the street. “Not like I had much of a choice.”

Rosaline narrowly avoided steering both lovebirds into a mailbox as they got distracted by a flickering street light. Juliet looked away from the light to smile ingenuously at her, slipping her hand from Romeo’s to bop Rosaline gently on the nose. Rosaline had to smile. Juliet may be young and crazy but she was just having fun, and Rosaline loved her to pieces. “Yeah, I get that.” 

They walked on in silence until they reached Benvolio’s sleek charcoal gray car. He helped Rosaline wrestle Romeo and Juliet into the backseat, making sure they were both wearing seatbelts. Once settled, the couple held hands and Romeo raised their intertwined fingers to kiss Juliet’s knuckles. Rosaline frowned. Damn him for being adorable and so tender with Juliet. His sweetness was melting her ire.

Rosaline sat in the passenger seat and set her purse down by her feet. “You know where you’re going?”

Benvolio clicked his seat belt into place and started the ignition, turning on the heater on low. “Yeah, this isn’t the first time this has happened.” He checked his mirrors before pulling out into the street.

Rosaline must have pulled a face because he glanced over and chuckled. “Don’t worry, I never set a foot inside any of the bedrooms; you don’t have to worry about me violating the sanctity of your home. I mostly just shoved them both inside to crash on the living room couch with water bottles.”

She let out an unconvinced hum but let it drop…for the moment.

“Ros! Isn’t Romeo so great?”

Rosaline winced, resisting the urge to cover her ears. “Yup, that he is, Jules. But let’s use our inside voice, okay?”

“Oh, sorry!” Juliet giggled and held her hand over her mouth, lowering her voice to a “whisper” that was only slightly less audible. “Sorry.”

Rosaline shook her head, fighting a grin. “That’s okay, Jules.”

“I’d turn on the radio, but I’m afraid they would start serenading us,” Benvolio muttered to her.

“Yeah, they probably would.” Rosaline smiled at the memory of one karaoke night that got out of control. “‘Caterwauling’ would be the proper term.” Juliet had a lovely singing voice, but for some reason when she drank, she lost all notions of key and pitch and timing. Mildly annoying to her, but vastly entertaining for everyone else, as numerous Snapchat posts had proven.

Drumming his thumbs on his steering wheel, Benvolio checked his blind spot before merging onto the freeway. “So what sort of post-workday excitement did the drunken duo pull you away from?”

Rosaline looked over at him.

“What?”

She continued to study him in silence.

“What, Capulet?”

“I’m just trying to wrap my head around this.” She motioned in the air between them. “So we’re doing small talk now?”

He rolled his eyes. “Good God, Capulet, it was a question about your night, not a contract for your firstborn. But if it pleases the lady, we’ll just carry on in silence.”

His vehemence stung her. “No, it’s just weird.”

“Sue me for trying to be polite.” He pushed on the accelerator with a bit more force than necessary and they shot forward to squeeze between two SUVs and swing around a semi that was taking its sweet time. If Romeo had been driving, Rosaline would have berated him for the move, but Benvolio’s hands moved confidently on the wheel and he switched gears with ease. She was surprised to realize she felt…safe, even though they were moving at high speeds. Definitely not the usual reaction to being in close proximity of her annoying coworker.

After a few more minutes of quiet - well, as quiet as it could be with the infatuated couple asking each other about the likelihood of Teletubbies on Mars - Rosaline decided she could get past the weirdness of the situation and interact with Benvolio like a normal person. Being polite wouldn’t kill her, even though it might sting a bit. She sucked it up anyway and calmly asked, “Have you been to that bar before? It seemed very…” She groped for an appropriate way to say ‘outrageously hipster and full of itself’ just in case it happened to be his favorite hangout spot. “Popular,” she settled on.  
Benvolio grunted in acknowledgement, and for a long moment Rosaline thought that might be the only answer he gave her. But he went on to say, “Not really my scene - too young and hipster for me.”

Rosaline scrambled for something else to carry on the conversation. “It was nice of the bartender to call me.”

He snorted. “I’m sure little Capulet’s looks had nothing to do with that, or with the way he smiled at you.”

Rosaline couldn’t believe her ears. “What on earth are you talking about? We literally had five seconds of interaction.”

“One second’s enough.”

She glanced down at her outfit incredulously. “Dressed like this? In comparison to all the girls wearing handkerchiefs I hardly think so.”

Benvolio didn’t look away from the road as he drove, but Rosaline knew he would be raising an eyebrow - it was all in his voice inflection. “You may not be aware of this, but for guys, generally the face is enough. Pretty’s pretty, and clothes are just inconvenient covers to what we’re most interested in.”

Rosaline blinked twice, absorbing the roundabout compliment. “Uh…thanks?”

“He was pretty lucky, actually. If you were wearing those red heels, he might not have been able to contain himself.” The remark was snidely made, but Rosaline suddenly recalled how often she had felt Benvolio’s eyes tracing her legs when she wore her cherry red heels.

Isabella may have been right for once about them being ‘fuck me’ shoes. Normally Rosaline didn’t believe in the concept - shoes were shoes, weren’t they? - but maybe that’s because she had never consulted a male perspective on the matter.

She was saved from responding to Benvolio’s comment by Romeo sticking his head between their shoulders. “What’re you guys talking about?” His speech slurred the last words into one, but Rosaline got the gist and decided to mess with his head.

“Autumnal scents. Like why is pumpkin spice more popular than apple cinnamon? Personally pumpkins don’t smell all that appetizing or comforting to me, and pumpkin spice lattes are devil’s brew that should not exist.”

Romeo blinked slowly as he tried to comprehend her rant. “Apple…spice latte?”

She pointed at him. “Exactly. That would be infinitely better. You should market that.”

“Kay.” He slumped back in his seat, still confused.

Benvolio chuckled under his breath. “Not very nice, Capulet, confusing the daylights of the drunk people.”

She waved it off. “Oh, like he’s going to remember that in the morning.”

“Pancakes are good for morning!” Juliet piped up.

“Yes, dear, they are. If you two don’t throw up everywhere, I may even make you some.”

“Yay!” Juliet clapped her hands in excitement before turning to her boyfriend and grabbing his shoulders as she attempted to speak sternly to him. “No throwing up, kay, honey? I want pancakes!”

He lazily put a thumb up to appease her. “Whatever you want, babe.”

She patted him on the head. “Good boy.”

Rosaline had turned in her seat to observe them, which put her in rather close quarters to their driver. His low baritone tickled her ear.

“If I spend the night without vomiting, do I get pancakes too?” 

She suppressed the shiver his words evoked, though she was not as successful as she thought, since he chuckled once more. Drawing upon her righteous anger, she hissed, “Keep your eyes on the road before you kill us all, Montague.”

Amusement colored his voice as he answered benignly, “Yes, Capulet.”

The rest of the drive passed almost peacefully, with Rosaline occasionally lobbing ridiculous conversation topics toward the backseat just to be evil and keep Benvolio amused and awake. Soon enough he was pulling into a parking spot at their complex. Rosaline hopped out and opened the back door nearest to her.

“All right, lovebirds, we’re home. Time to get out.” She snapped her fingers in front of Romeo’s nose a few times to bring his attention back to the present and away from his own hand, which he had been studying intently for the last few minutes.

He blinked up at her blearily. “Home?”

“Home,” she confirmed, tugging on his arm to start him moving. Benvolio was doing the same to Juliet, who was asking him about his close-trimmed beard and how he kept it “so fuzzy.”

“Your face must be warm all the time!” She exclaimed as he helped her upright. She thrust a pointer finger at the facial hair in question, and Benvolio had to dodge quickly to avoid losing an eye. “Because it hugs your face like a blanket. Right?”

Rosaline burst out laughing at that, and the glare he shot her over the roof of his car only served to increase her hilarity. “Yup, that’s exactly what it is, Jules - a furry face blanket.”

“Shut it, Capulet,” he growled at her, holding onto Juliet’s arm and leading her over. Jerking his chin at Romeo, he indicated for them to trade lovebirds, which Rosaline was grateful for, since Romeo was starting to lose his ability to remain standing and leaning more and more heavily on her.

She grabbed Juliet’s hand. “Come on, then.”

Benvolio glanced around. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: you ladies should consider moving to a better part of town.”

Even though he was right, Rosaline’s hackles immediately raised at the implied knock to their ability to choose a living space. “What’s wrong with it? Our apartment is cozy and it’s close to the L station.”

“‘Cozy’ is how realtors sell apartments the size of closets to naive hipsters, Capulet. And you’re lucky you haven’t gotten jumped on your way home yet.”

She paused to prop Juliet against the wall while she simultaneously dug out her keys and pressed the elevator call button. “We have a lot of extended and distant family in the area, so I feel pretty safe.” Absently she felt Juliet’s forehead to make sure it felt normal. “But I do carry a taser; I’m not a complete idiot.”

“I would never dare to think so.”

She glanced at him sharply, but his answer seemed innocuous and he appeared genuine enough, so she accepted it as is. The ding of the elevator heralded its doors opening, and they herded Romeo and Juliet inside. The lovebirds held hands as they leaned against the back wall of the car, and Rosaline was pleased to see that Romeo at least seemed to be a bit more sober. If he was in his right mind again, he would help to take care of his girlfriend so Rosaline wouldn’t have to worry so much about both of them missing the toilet bowl and throwing up on the bathroom floor.

Sure enough, Romeo stroked Juliet’s cheek as he asked her if she was feeling okay. She gave him a dopey grin and nodded. He shook his head in fond exasperation as they reached the fifth floor and the doors split apart to let them out. “Come on, my love, let’s get you some water and possibly an aspirin.”

He slipped an arm around her waist and guided her toward their apartment door. Rosaline exited the elevator, but paused when she realized the last of their party was not following. She glanced back at Benvolio and quirked an eyebrow.

A rueful smirk crossed his face as he put a palm out to stop the doors from closing again. “Looks like you guys can take it from here.”

He was right, of course - Romeo had already dug Juliet’s key from her tiny purse and was unlocking the door with one hand while he held her steady with the other - but Rosaline found herself hesitating all the same, which was ridiculous. He’d done them a favor and proved he could be a decent human being for an hour - so why was she trying to prolong any interaction with him outside of work?

She adjusted her grip on her purse for lack of anything better to do with her hands. “Thanks for the ride.”

Benvolio’s smirk grew. “Well, to be fair, I was doing my cousinly duty and giving Romeo and Juliet a ride and you just tagged along.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, then, thanks for letting me tag along.”

The elevator emitted an annoyed sounding beep as it indicated it was being called back to the lobby.

“Guess that’s my cue.” Benvolio let go of the door and stepped back so it could close properly. “See you, Capulet.” He tipped an imaginary hat at her. She lifted a hand in farewell just as the doors slid shut. The agitated feeling in her gut was simply a result of him getting the last word, again, and nothing more, she told herself, walking toward the apartment. Entering and locking the door behind her, she heard Romeo in the kitchen and peering down toward Juliet’s room, she caught a glimpse of her cousin’s bare feet at the end of her bed. Romeo would tuck her in and then they would go to sleep. Nodding to herself in satisfaction, Rosaline deposited her purse and jacket on her desk and clambered back into her own bed. Now that that was over with, she could get back to the rest of her Friday night. Clicking back onto her show, she forced herself to get re-immersed into the fictional world of superheroes and forget about the night’s events. Out of sight, out of mind, she told herself, and since she had another two blessedly Benvolio-free days to look forward to, she chalked the night up to a one-off and strove to forget about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest apologies for going MIA these past months! Hopefully, chapters will come out faster once the requisite holiday madness is over. Happy Holidays to you and yours and best wishes as we greet this upcoming new year!


	4. An Accursed Day (well, sort of)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosaline has a terrible morning, but Montague somehow makes it better by the end of the day, devious man that he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Here's Chapter 4 for your reading pleasure. Hope you enjoy!

A few weeks later found Rosaline having a hell of a morning, and it didn’t seem like it was going to get any better. She had had an appointment with Dr. Mendelsohn, and while he was a very nice man, she had never grown to appreciate someone sticking their fingers in her mouth to scrape and polish her teeth when she herself did a perfectly adequate job of doing so with her own toothbrush. Not to mention the outrageous fees she had to pay him and his staff of perky hygienists with blindingly white smiles to perform such services.

The early hour of her appointment, made so she would miss the least amount of work, meant that she had had to wake up a half hour earlier than her normal time, and while she had become accustomed to being an early bird (thanks to an abundance of overachiever ambition cultivated in middle school) she was really a night owl at heart so that extra 30 minutes would have really helped her to wake up more, both mentally and physically.

Plus, thanks to the fluoride treatment that Dr. Mendelsohn had pushed on her, she couldn’t even drink some coffee to perk herself up. So she dragged herself from the train into work, slumping against the back of the elevator and blinking rapidly while she attempted to kickstart her own level of alertness by sheer willpower. The _ding_ of the elevator’s arrival prompted her to straighten her spine and don her impassive mask of competence she usually wore while at the office. Generally, she backed it up with genuine hard work and effort, but today it was a facade to fool the rest of her coworkers so they wouldn’t descend into anarchy. Taking a deep breath to fortify herself, she started stalking down the corridor toward her desk, determined to get to work and not lose any more time.

Rosaline had just set her purse down on top of her desk when her uncle’s door slammed open.

“ _Rosaline!_ ”

She winced at her uncle’s roar. Forgoing the struggle to remove her coat, which she already had half off, she hurried to scoot around her desk and into Silvestro’s office. She didn’t even get a chance to ask what was wrong when he started berating her for her tardiness.

“We have a _standard_ to uphold here, and just because you are related to me does _not_ mean you can swan about flaunting the _rules_!”

Rosaline considered trying to tell him that she had reminded him every single day for the past week that she was going to be late today because of her dentist appointment, but she decided that would probably set him off even more, so she just grit her teeth and bore it, nodding along about how much of a failure and a disappointment she was. Especially since Silvestro had had a morning meeting instead of a tee time for once and couldn’t find his notes for it and had had to go off the cuff - even though she had put a copy of his notes in his briefcase and also one on his desk (just in case) last night. Apparently, her uncle was incapable of finding anything unless she was there to hand it to him.

Finally, Silvestro ran out of breath and just pointed at his door with a quivering finger. “ _Get. Out. And get to work_ ,” he rasped.

Nodding sharply and holding back an answering tirade of her own, Rosaline spun on her heel and marched out, shutting the door behind her… not slamming it like she really wanted to, but closing it firmly nonetheless.

Ignoring Benvolio who was typing away at some document or another, she continued on to her chair and sat heavily. Glancing to make sure Benvolio was engrossed in his task, she took a moment to indulge and buried her head in her hands, resting her elbows on her desk as she inwardly groaned. A punching bag would be a godsend at the moment, she thought.

A throat cleared in the air above her head. Slowly, dreading human conversation, she raised her head to see Benvolio standing next to her desk. There was a surprisingly soft emotion on his face, which may or may not have been compassion and which she chose to ignore. Pasting on a polite smile, she raised inquiring eyebrows at him.

Wordlessly, he offered her a full mug of coffee, still steaming. From what she could see, it had been mixed with creamer and maybe a bit of chocolate syrup - her personal blend she made for herself each morning. She just gaped at it for a long moment before glancing up at him. His expression now showed his discomfort, but she half smiled at him (a real one this time).

“Thanks, but my dentist forced fluoride on me, so I can’t eat or drink anything for at least another fifteen minutes.” She nodded at the mug. “That’ll probably be cold by then.”

“Most likely,” he agreed with her. They both stared down at the mug. He surprised her again when he broke the silence. “So I’ll get you another one in sixteen minutes, then.”

She blinked at his offer, overwhelmed by his kindness. He had never made such a gesture before, and she was not sure what to make of it. However, someone else making her a cup of coffee when she was in desperate need of caffeine may be the only bright spot to this accused day, so she was not going to look a Montague gift horse in the mouth (for once).

“Okay, thanks.”

Tipping his chin at her in that purely masculine nod of salutation, Benvolio strode away across the room to reseat himself at his own desk. Rosaline watched his retreat, brow furrowed, before sitting down herself and powering up her computer. The fact that Montague had demonstrated a moment of decency and tact should not have been so surprising, she scolded herself. He was human, after all. There had to be some atoms of compassion and caring somewhere in his body - one could not subsist on rage and snark alone, after all.

(Although if Livia was asked, she would say that Rosaline herself ran on caffeine, anger and pure willpower. Not that Rosaline would ever deign to actually ask her.)

She shook herself and told herself to focus on her work. Leaving thoughts of her uncle’s mistaken rancor and Montague’s confusing humanity behind, she logged into the system so she could immerse herself in the morning’s work. While the computer chugged along, whirring as it struggled to connect, she idly wondered if it was time for a password change. Rosaline changed hers often, mostly because she was convinced the Montague across from her kept figuring them out and she didn’t want to come to work one day only to discover that he had locked out of her own account.

This week the password was DEATHTOMONTAGUES, which she had chosen in a fit of pique after Damiano had taken the last mocha creamer and not bothered to restock the container. She’d been irritated beyond belief because Benvolio’s uncle didn’t even like mocha flavored things, but his own usual hazelnut creamer was low, so he made do with hers, much to Rosaline’s ire.

Actually, if she were to be honest, most of her passwords had revolved around the theme of murdering Montagues since the two companies had merged. Maybe that was why her office rival had been able to figure them out time and again. Making a face, she clicked on her security tab and found the option to change her password. Her hands hovered over her keyboard, but she found herself unable to come up with a good password. Lightly drumming on her spacebar, she nibbled on her thumbnail of her free hand. Password…password…password…

“How about ‘GrumpyCatRulez2018?’”

Rosaline took pride in the fact that she did not flinch at Montague’s comment, spoken from a distance about six inches from her ear. Instead, she tilted her head to regard him lazily, noting the steaming mug in his hand.

“Wow, Montague, I could actually hear the Z at the end of that.”

He winked cheekily at her. “Good, that’s what I was going for.”

She rolled her eyes, but accepted his caffeine offering all the same. “Sorry if I can’t bring myself to be reduced to poor grammar, even in my passwords.” She noted that he carefully was not saying anything about whether or not he’d guessed her current one, and she followed suit. No one could be blamed for something that was just supposition, after all.

Rosaline took a sip of her coffee, pleasantly surprised to find it tasted exactly the same as when she made it herself. “This is good coffee, Montague. Thank you.”

“I live to serve, Capulet.” With a sardonic wave, he strolled away off down the hallway.

Wrinkling her nose a bit at his antics, she returned her attention to her screen. Another sip of coffee revitalized her, and she was able to change her security protocols to accept MYONLYGODISCOFFEE as her new password. It wasn’t true in the strictest sense; though not particularly “religious” or churchgoing, Rosaline and Livia had long found comfort in the presence of their Heavenly Father, especially after their parents passed away. But Rosaline figured that God had enough of a sense of humor to appreciate the sentiment - He had created platypuses and emus, after all.

Security so strengthened against any Montague espionage, Rosaline opened her email account to start reading the day’s correspondence. Predictably, Dorcas was asking for an extension on the deadline for her accounting report. Rosaline suspected the woman was something of a closet alcoholic. Either that or she spent every weekend trying to reclaim her youth by going to bars and parties and hitting on younger men. Without fail, every Monday she would be “too ill” (read: hungover) to complete her tasks on time, and every time Rosaline granted her an extension she would have to add more work to her own load in order to make up the difference. Frankly, Rosaline was bloody sick of it, but Dorcas had been a faithful Capulet employee for years, and it seemed like a lot of unnecessary trouble to start rocking the boat now. Besides Rosaline’s time management was so efficient, clocks themselves should take notice.

Still, she scowled at Dorcas’ plaintive plea. Really, would growing up, even for one day, kill the woman? It was shameful, really, the way she carried on, cougar-ing all around town.

“Uh oh, I know that look.”

Rosaline glanced up to see Montague sitting back down in his chair, a sheaf of paper grasped in one hand. “What look? There’s no look.”

“No, there’s definitely a look,” Montague nodded sagely, stroking his chin as he took her in. “That is your patented ‘Dorcas-is-being-an-immature-twit-again-and-making-more-work-for-the-rest-of-us’ frown.”

Rosaline double blinked as she processed that apparently she had various facial expressions tailored to certain situations and also that Montague had catalogued them correctly, if this instance were to be believed. Did he have particular expressions? How much time had they been spending together, really? Such a development was disturbing, to say the least.

Valiantly she tried to put him off. “No, this is my ‘Montague is being annoying again’ face.”

He chuckled. “Nice try, but you have that face at least thrice a day, so I’m intimately familiar with that one.”

She opened her mouth to rebut, only to have him cut her off. “You should just tell her no, Capulet. She needs to learn her actions have consequences. We’re a publishing company, not a university, for God’s sake. It’s not like she has tenure.”

“But…” _my uncle wouldn’t like it_ nearly came out of Rosaline’s mouth before her mind caught up and stopped it, aware of the implications such a statement made upon her uncle’s image and the Capulet name. She floundered for a response. “It’s not that bad today. Just an accounting report. I can finish that on my lunch break.”

It was Benvolio’s turn to roll his eyes. “It’s your break, woman - the whole point is not to work. Here, I’ll tell her my uncle needs it by end of day, then she can’t get out of it.”

She bristled both at his choice of moniker and his highhandedness. “I can do that.”

“Dorcas and your uncle are too buddy-buddy for it to be an effective threat from you, Capulet. Just let me take care of it.”

Rosaline was sure the look on her face was now labeled “five seconds from murder.” “I don’t need you to take care of anything. I don’t need your help.”

“Believe me, I know, Capulet.” His bright blue gaze was piercing. “You’re the most capable woman I’ve ever met. If we got thrown in a Tardis and spit out in medieval times, I have absolutely no doubt that you would be able to out-joust any knight stupid enough to stand in your way, armor or no.”

Her lips twisted in reluctant amusement at his assessment. That was certainly not a compliment a lady heard every day, that’s for sure. “You’d do well to remember that, Montague.”

He slapped a fervent hand to his chest. “Oh, absolutely, my lady. I know very well to keep any battle with you limited to verbal only.”

She snorted but tried to keep her expression disapproving, rather than let him see her mirth. “Seriously, though, I’m emailing her right now.” Benvolio’s fingers flew over his keyboard. “I’ll imply my uncle’s on the warpath today - that ought to light a fire under her skirt.”

“And it’s not even fake news.” Rosaline snorted. “Isn’t he on the warpath every day?”

“Sadly, yes. I both fear and hope that his heart will give up at some point and he’ll go into cardiac arrest.” He glanced over at her. “Oh, don’t look so shocked, Capulet, it’s not like I want him to die. Just a minor heart attack will do. Enough to keep him out of my hair for, like two weeks. A month at most.”

Rosaline cocked her head to the side as she considered the same fate befalling her own uncle. It would be nice to be out from under Silvestro’s thumb for a few weeks… But those were mere daydreams for the moment. Better to focus on the here and now, instead of wishes and fantasies. Those were of no help to anyone. “Fine, then, email away. But I doubt that it’ll be any more effective.”

“Oh, ye of little faith, Capulet. I guarantee you’ll have that report before you go home today.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You want to bet on that, Montague?”

Her challenge sparked a mischievous smirk. “Absolutely. Name your terms.”

Rosaline tapped a key absently as she pondered. “If I don’t get the report today, you have to break out into song in the break room, in the morning, during the coffee rush.” The rush referred to the time when everyone was getting into the office and hurrying to top off their coffee cups so they would be adequately supplied with caffeine for the morning. This occurred generally every morning around 9:10. “And it has to be a full song, not just a chorus or one verse.”

Benvolio couldn’t hide his amazement. “Damn, Capulet, you don’t play around.”

She shot him a wry look. “Did you think I would?”

“Well, no,” he admitted. “In that case, if Dorcas does pull through, then you have to sit next to whatshisface, Costard, at lunch and ask him about his pet turtles.”

Rosaline’s eyes widened. Costard was unhealthily attached to his amphibians, and anytime anyone made the mistake of asking him how they were doing, they were treated to a half-hour long treatise about the exact details of each one’s health, their emotional ups and downs, various new toys he’d bought for them, and the like. Rosaline privately referred to him as Mr Collins in her head, likening him to Elizabeth Bennet’s overly gregarious windbag of a cousin. “You have to sit and listen for the whole lunch hour.”

“That’s just cruel and unusual, Montague.”

“So’s turning the break room into an episode of _glee_. Fair play, Capulet.” His eyes shone with unholy challenge. “Not going to back down now, are you?”

Rosaline stuck her nose in the air, offended at the very suggestion. “You wish.”

She marched over to shake on the bet, ignoring how gently Benvolio grasped her hand in his own larger, calloused one before firmly squeezing it. “You’re on, Montague.”

She went to withdraw her hand, but he held it fast. “A moment, my dear Capulet. It should go without saying, but neither of us is allowed to contact Dorcas or anyone in her department from this moment on. That single email is the only correspondence she will get from either of us on the matter. Agreed?”

“Yes, of course,” she huffed.What did he think she would do, cheat? Ha. There was no need for that. Rosaline was well acquainted with Dorcas’ propensity for laziness, so she was pretty certain she had this one in the bag.

Idiotic man. Clearly he had underestimated her…again. Didn’t he learn his lesson from last time? He knew she could hold a grudge forever, so really, he was just gifting her with more ammunition to dislike him. She shrugged - it was his funeral. She was already looking forward to seeing his performance in the break room. He’d probably choose a rock song - Benvolio looked like one of those wannabe types who belted out “Just a small town girl…living in a looooneely world” every karaoke night.

Bet struck, each of the executive assistants returned to their tasks. Rosaline replied to all of her emails that required fast responses and then sat back to take another stab at the manuscript she was currently reading. It had made it past the first two rounds of readers before landing in her IN pile, so she was trying to see why, without much success. Usually the novels that were forwarded to her meant that they were billed as “commercially viable,” and ostensibly she was to pass them on to her uncle for final approval. However, Silvestro was not overfond of reading novels outside his preferred genre of crime thrillers, so Rosaline had to read all of the others in his stead.

Today’s manuscript was a young adult foray into steampunk. The writing was good, and the world building lavish, but for a love story, it was leaving her feeling awfully deflated. Nowhere near as bad as a certain vampire-werewolf love triangle that Shall Not Be Named, but Rosaline was having trouble connecting to the main character, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on the reason why.

She must have been making some interesting faces at the pages in her hands, because Benvolio called over, “Story that good, huh?”

Rosaline glanced up and considered him. It may do her some good to get a second opinion. She rose and walked over to him. “Here, Montague, do me a favor and read…” she shuffled pages a bit until she found the section in the chapter she wanted, spreading it out on his desk. “Here through here, and tell me what you think.”

“Sure.” He immediately clicked off of the document he was typing and picked up the first page. Gratitude for his instantaneous help, Rosaline peered over at his coffee mug and decided he could do with a top off, and so could she. Swiping up both mugs, she left him to his reading.

Returning from the break room, she carefully set his cup down to the side and perched herself on the edge of his desk, facing away from him back toward the elevators, taking a sip of her own drink. He muttered a distracted “Thanks” and continued reading. As proficient a reader as herself, it wasn’t long before Benvolio was finished.

Rosaline cocked an eyebrow at him over her shoulder. “Well?” He shrugged. “I can see why it made it to your desk, but in all honesty, it shouldn’t have.”

Rosaline let out a sigh, justified in her gut feelings. “Right? She’s got it down with the prose and the details and the world building, but —“

“—the love story’s just not there.” Benvolio nodded. “There’s more chemistry between Costard and his turtles.”

An unladylike guffaw burst from her mouth, and Rosaline quickly put up her free hand to cover the sound. “Montague, that’s terrible!”

He grinned, unrepentant. “But true.”

She had to concede the point. “So what are you going to do? Type up a nice rejection letter and send it back?”

Rosaline nibbled a thumbnail. “The writing’s so good, though. And we don’t get a lot of steampunk, much less elaborately set up steampunk.”

Benvolio leaned back in his chair and rested his hands behind his head. She tried not to notice how the movement stretched his dark green dress shirt over his muscled biceps and torso. “The foundation and the walls are solid, but the house could use a new paint job, is that it?”

Her lips quirked. “Something like that.”

He put his arms down to gather the pages together. “So you’re going to fight for it with the editing team?”

“I think it’s worth it.” She stood and accepted the sheaf.

“Me, too.”

Waving a hand in thanks, Rosaline retreated to her side of the room.

“ _Benvolio_!” The bark from Damiano’s office broke the peaceful interlude. Rosaline exchanged a glance with Benvolio as he stood quickly. “Duty calls.”

“Good luck.”

He only rolled his eyes at her - they both knew such platitudes were hopeless in the face of Damiano’s vile personality. Silvestro’s, too. There at least they were equals in having similarly terrible relatives.

She was still writing notes on sticky tabs and placing them all over the steampunk manuscript - color-coordinated by subject, of course i.e. purple for plot holes, pink for romantic moments, green for dialogue both good and bad - when Benvolio emerged an hour later. Rosaline glanced up, took one look at his face, and immediately opened her bottom drawer to dig through her stash of candy to find a couple Twix bars. Grabbing them, she deposited them on Benvolio’s keyboard, startling him a little, as he had been rubbing his temples with his eyes closed. He looked down at the mini candy bars and then up at Rosaline as she traversed the room again toward her desk.

“Perfection, thy name is Rosaline,” he drawled, ripping open one of the candies and stuffing it into his mouth, continuing as the chocolate garbled his words. “Truly the best of women!”

“Oh, shut it, Montague,” she shot over her shoulder, feeling her cheeks warm with his effusive praise nonetheless.

He swallowed his mouthful. “Did dearest Dorcas manage to send in her report while I was away?”

“I haven’t checked my email since we made the bet, so I have no idea. I doubt it.” Rosaline scribbled good tension on a pink note and stuck it on the page she was rereading. “Capulet.”

“I’m not checking it.”

“Capulet.”

“No.”

“ _Capulet_.”

“ _Montague_ ,” she mimicked his plaintive tone.

“Rosaline.”

Even the rare use of her first name would not sway her.

“Shut up and get back to work, Montague.”

She heard a muttered “Cruel, cruel woman” before keyboard typing noises resumed on that side of the room.

Shaking her head, she focused on the story.

After lunch, they went through the same song-and-dance again, until Rosaline threatened to throw her stapler at his head until he piped down. That earned her peace and quiet for the rest of the afternoon.

They were both starting to pack up their belongings when he ventured to ask again. “That eager to belt it out for everyone tomorrow, Montague?” Rosaline quipped as she stood to stretch her back, leaning down to click on her work email account.

“No, I have faith that you’ve finally put the fear of God in her now.” He sauntered over, shrugging his jacket on.

Rosaline didn’t respond for a long moment, looking over her inbox and refreshing the page twice just in case. Too impatient to wait, Benvolio stepped up to the desk right next to her to see for himself. She was gracious enough to remain silent as he ascertained her knowledge of Dorcas’ personality was superior to his. Not finding an accounting report and realizing he’d been beaten, he dropped his forehead onto her shoulder and groaned.

She valiantly ignored the warmth of his presence until he stepped back. Turning to face him, she laughed at the puppy eyes he tried to employ against her, shaking her head. “A bet’s a bet, Montague. You might want to drink some honey lemon tea before work to warm up those pipes tomorrow morning.”

Grumbling, he muttered invectives against her and her “scheming ways,” but she noticed that he still helped her into her coat and walked her out of the building. Feeling buoyed by her victory, she reached up to mischievously pinch his cheek. “What a lovely birthday present you’re going to give me, Montague.”

He instinctively batted at her hand before her words registered. “Tomorrow’s your birthday, Capulet?”

“Actually, it’s on Friday,” she acknowledged, “but this will suffice.”

“Nothing like public humiliation to celebrate the day of one’s birth.” Grinning, she saluted him as she turned away to head toward the exit and the subway station beyond. “Precisely, my dear Montague.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope each and every one of you dear readers is doing well. If you're not (or even if you are), I'm sending blessings, love, and hugs your way! Thanks for reading my little fanfic. You all rock!


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